


Secrets and Lies

by ASOUEfan



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Dark Thoughts, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Literally And Figuratively, Loss of Control, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Olaf does his best to push her over the edge, Self-Hatred, Smut, Violaf, Violet can't cope with the feels, Whats better than a broken Orphan of your own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-03-09 02:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Violet believes the fire that destroyed the Baudelaire home was her fault, and is scared the truth will destroy her in turn. In hope of redemption, she tells Olaf what she has done. However, Olaf sees an opportunity to ruin the Baudelaire girl for good, if he can get to believe she truly is a villain.Set during “A Bad Beginning” pre- through to post-wedding, where Violet isn’t coping with the death of her parents/the fire, and blames herself/goes on self-destruct.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment I read somewhere about not being enough 'bad!Baudelaires' feels, how they always seem to cope with the fire, the death of their parents and the unfortunate events with unwavering sense of moral goodness and that everything will be alright. Well your home is destroyed, your parents are dead. You know? Everything is not alright. And thus triggers the self destruct self blaming cycle that Olaf can corrupt.

Violet shifted uncomfortably in the small rickety metal bed she was sharing with her siblings. She listened to the dull patter-patter of rain on the roof and hoped they had patched up all the holes, otherwise by morning there would be puddles around the attic room, but she was confident they had done a good job in the roof repairs. 

It was sadly ironic that it kept raining. If only the rain had doused the fire before it started they would not be in this terrible situation. Her siblings didn't deserve this, but some quiet part of Violets mind reminded her, _she did._  

She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself not to think about it. 

Sunny's chest rose and fell in rhythmical cycles as she slept, her teeth chattering every so often but not from cold. Violet was sure that wedged between the elder Baudelaire’s that her sister was warm and comfortable. No, the teeth biting was simply her dreaming; and knowing her sister was off enjoying herself biting things, even if it was simply a dream, brought her comfort. 

Eventually, she gave in to the long night and the fact she would not sleep. They did not know why Count Olaf wanted them to perform in the play, if it was real or not - Klaus had his suspicions; but it was a strange distraction from their horrible surroundings to think that by Friday she would play a blushing bride opposite her Guardian in front of hundreds of people. 

She eased carefully out of bed as slowly as she could, not wanting the mattress to creak and wake either of her siblings. She wanted to be alone, to walk, to stop _thinking_ about what she had done. The more she thought about not thinking about it, the more it stayed in her mind. Violet padded barefoot to the door, and snuck out down the hall, the stairs, going nowhere in particular except walking, walking. The strange eye of Count Olaf’s decor was everywhere, and was watching her down each hall, in each room. It could see her guilt.

“Whose there?” A gruff voice called from inside a door, half ajar on the middle landing. 

Violet felt a flurry of activity in her chest as her adrenaline spiked and she glanced side to side, wondering if she should nip away into another room, hide. Would he be angry with her, for being out of bed? No, that was childish notion and they were not children anymore. They were Orphans, and she was the eldest, she had to look after them. Did that make her a grown up? She had heard of girls in the year above her at school, seen their bellies grow and then vanish from school. _So-and-so had a baby!_ The corridors would whisper. That girl became a grown up for the reason of becoming a parent. Was Violet parent to her siblings now? If she was then she didn't deserve to be. 

She pressed her fingertips to the door and eased it open. Count Olaf sat half folded up in a leather armchair in the corner of the room, some curtain or multi-patterned blanket tossed around him messily. “I couldn't sleep. I’m sorry, I didn’t meant disturb you.” It looked like he had been sleeping there. 

He narrowed his eyes and the intruder, and beckoned her in. “What was it, your mind was so focused on that you found yourself _so very alone_ in the middle of the night?” He murmured, rubbing his eye with one hand and staring out the window, curtains left undrawn letting the moonlight stream in. “Is it how lucky you all are to have me as your Guardian?” 

She shook her head. He looked oddly cosy on the armchair, vastly unlike her chilly existence up in the attic room, sleeping in the same dress she wore all day, but without the belt - as if taking it off would make such an endeavour more pleasant. She wished for an armchair like that, something warming and soft to curl up in to read a book about the great inventors through history, like she had done in her parents library. That was all gone now of course. “You hit Klaus.” She said dumbly, walking in further to the room and without asking, perched herself on the edge of the bed. She wondered if it was his bed. His bedroom. She looked around at the mess and presumed it to be. 

“He deserved it,” Olaf shrugged. He tilted his head at the sight of her on his bed, her toes scuffing the well-worn rug. He had never thought her capable of walking in here under her own fruition, but she had something on her mind. He could see it in the far-off look to her eyes. She wasn’t thinking about now, about him, that it could be dangerous simply walking into his clutches.

“He’s a good person. He was just frustrated.” Violet played her hands in her lap, she didnt want to say what she really thought. _It should have been me._ If Olaf was to continue to be horrible to them, force them to do a great many chores that only ever seemed to get more difficult, if he was to hit them and abuse them when they mis-stepped, then she should take it. Not Klaus. Not Sunny. “You shouldn't have done it.”

Olaf hummed, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “Theres a great many things I shouldn't have done Violet Baudelaire,” He replied, sounding proud of the fact. 

“Me too.” She hugged her arms around herself, leaning over her legs somewhat as if trying to make herself smaller. She wanted to block out the pain that fermented in her gut, her mental anguish producing a physical reaction that had stunted her appetite and made her feel nauseous. 

“I scarcely believe you have ever told a lie,” He muttered derisively. Olaf knew how self-righteous her parents were, there was no doubt in his mind that the daughter of such a coupling would be just the same. Her short time in his guardianship had proven it. But the girl seemed so sure of her own wickedness. “Have you?” 

She nodded. “Yes. When I had to.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and returned her arms to hugging herself again. The false comfort of arms that no-longer lived. “But I felt awful about it.” She stared at her lap. Her knees looked red and sore. The faded pink of her dress looked dull, and dirty. She had been in the same thing for over a week. “Do you feel bad for hitting my brother? You must know its wrong.” 

Olaf sat forwards, undraping the blanket from his shoulders and walking over to where she sat, choosing a spot beside her. “What people deserve and what people get, Violet Baudelaire are not the same thing.” He touched his finger under her chin and brought her gaze to his. Why was she not this pliant in daylight hours?   

“My siblings don't deserve to be here,” Her voice was just a whisper. Her eyes paled, as though his dark ones consumed the colour and life from hers. She needed that. Maybe he could absorb her guilt and her wrong doing and make it his own. 

His hand dropped away, his features turning sour. “That sounds like you’re being ungrateful, when I have opened my home to you Orphans and - “

“I didn't mean that. I’m sorry if it came across …,” She corrected herself quickly, sensing his mood shifting into the Olaf they witnessed during the day. Violet wasn’t sure which she preferred; when he was antagonising and horrible at least she felt as though her punishment was adequate for her crime. But it always brought with it extra guilt for wishing for his mistreatment, when her siblings had to suffer it too. “They don't deserve to be Orphans.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he sat down beside her. “I doubt many people deserve to become an Orphan, and so young.” He wondered what had brought on such self-contemplation. He almost felt a kinship with her, in a strange sort of way. How he had been similarly lost over the death of his father, and found by two mentors who guided his way out of his depression. Violet seemed to be in this same dark place. 

Her eyes welled with tears. “I do.” The words hung in the air between them for a couple of minutes as her tears started to roll down her cheeks. It was all consuming, this pain. She needed to tell someone. Expunge it. 

“Come again?” Olaf blinked, and leant a little closer. He was sure her reply would be as quiet as a mouse, so she didn't want to hear her own words. 

Her hair fell around her face, masking her from him, from everything that would judge her, point the finger at her and cast her out if only it knew. “It was me,” She mumbled finally, sniffing and bringing her eyes up to look at him. “The fire that destroyed our home. That killed our parents. It was my fault.”

Olaf sat back as if digesting the information, though he knew it to be false. “How have you deduced that?” He asked, curiously. _She blames herself._  

There was an innate coping mechanism in every one that drove them to look for answers, for someone to blame when tragedy struck. Usually this took the form of a shopkeeper blaming the cashier for not noticing the teenagers shoplifting sweets, or a pet-owner blaming the squirrel that caught the eye of the dog that made it bolt across the road in front of an oncoming automobile. Of course it was not the squirrels fault, or the cashiers fault, these things happen. Even if another person had a hand in those crimes, surrounding the Baudelaire home in gasoline for example and using a spyglass to catch the suns rays and set fire to a curtain. Much like if someone left nuts out for the squirrel in the garden to encourage the animal to come over, not thinking of the possibility that the squirrel might distract a dog to its death. 

“Mother told me to take Klaus and Sunny to the beach. But I didn't want to, I hadn't finished my invention yet, and I wanted to finish it first. But she was most insistent we needed some fresh air,” Violet explained, none of what she said leading to the conclusion that she had started or caused the fire, that he and his Mentors had in fact planned and executed most perfectly.  

“So?” His monobrow twisted, still puzzled. 

“I left the candles on in my room. I’m sure of it!” She cried, smearing the wetness across her cheeks with her fingers as she spoke. “They were those, scented ones.” She strained to remember what flavour they had been, it was a yellow glass with a pale yellow wax, but she couldn't think what it had smelt off, before everything would smell only of ash and death. “When I used to invent things I needed machine cleaning fluid, oil, things like that. They smelt odd and it seeped onto my clothes so Mother had bought those silly overly-priced fragrant candles and…I walked out in a bit of a huff to pack a bag for the beach, and… just forgot.” Her story rambled and her hands worried themselves in her lap and her eyes begged him to see. It was her fault. She left the candles on. They must have caught fire, caught the curtains or the oil in her bedroom and it would've been quick to spread and her parents were busy they must have been and it was her candles, her inventing things, her room that started it. _Her fault._  

Olaf pressed one form hand over hers, stilling them. She didn't want to be still, she wanted to get this feeling out, that burned on the inside and scratched at her mind like claws. But he pressed harder, and forced her to be still. He had been presented an unexpected and singular opportunity. He wanted her to hear him. “ _You_ burnt down the Baudelaire mansion,” He told her, his words slow and solemn, repeating her crime to her. “ _You’re_ the reason they’re dead.” Olaf lied, branding this terrible guilt into her subconscious. He might have killed her parents - following orders and with their help of course, but this, this was far more wicked and the excitement made his toes curl. 

He could turn her.  

The tears poured down her cheeks and she did try to stop them, only swoop her hair out the way and blinking watching the salty droplets splash on the back of his hand. She nodded, eventually. 

“Say it.” Olaf ordered her. 

She sniffed, her voice sounding wet and broken. “I killed them.” 

He nodded, patting her hands. _Good girl_. He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the best damn acting he would have to summon from inside him. “Did you tell the police investigator this?” He asked. Pile on the guilt. Make her see what a monster she is. There is no turning away from it or ignoring it. Its who you are. She had to face herself, and he would be her mirror. 

“No.” Violet admitted. She dried her eyes on the short sleeve of her dress. She wouldn't weep for herself, she didn't deserve pity. Only her family did, and thinking of them made her unbearably sad and lonely. 

“So you hid the truth from them, you liked to the authorities,” He embellished bravely. Of course she searched for a reason in the darkness that all these unfortunate events had happened. Of course she blamed herself, thinking up something so insignificant, and holding on to it as a cause. It gave her control, where she had none. Olaf knew the more he worked her story the more wrong and villainous things she had done in it, and she believed it all the moment he said it. “And, your brother and sister.” He pointed out. 

“Its my fault.” She hooked her thumb over his, where his hand still held hers. He hadn’t moved away yet, hadn’t recoiled in horror at what she had done, and that gave her hope. “If it wasn’t for me then everything would be like before.” _Maybe he could understand it was an accident. That I didn't mean to._

He hummed sadly. “Yes, it is _all your fault._ ” He told her firmly. He shook his head at her, as if pitying her predicament. “However will you tell them, that you killed your own parents?”

Olaf’s words hit her painfully in the chest. _I didn’t. I didn't kill them, it was an accident!_ She leapt to her feet in panic. “I can’t! I cant ever tell them - please…,” She begged, her fingers scrunching her hair as though tearing at her mind for help, for a way out. She paced back and forth a few steps, looking up in the direction of the attic room where the slept, silent and unaware of the murderer only a floor below. She balled her fists and smacked her sides with them, jittery and agitated and seeing only darkness around her. “I cant keep feeling like this, but I don’t know what to do. I thought, I thought telling someone would help!”

Olaf smiled quietly to himself. This was so perfect. “I can’t ease your conscience for you. Only help you forget, for a little while.” 

She stopped, turning and staring at him. “How?” If he had an answer, she needed to hear it. He had done awful things, he had already admitted that. He knew how to deal with it, if he had a conscience at all that is. 

He uncrossed his legs, lacing his fingers together and hanging them in his lap. “Well, there is one way I’d usually suggest but I don't think you’d be up for it.” 

“What?” She stepped closer. 

“Sex,” Olaf said bluntly. 

Violet blinked, stunned. “I - what?” She stuttered, a shiver running up her back. “No, thats disgusting.” 

He laughed gently. “You cant say that when you have likely never tried it.” Olaf leant his elbows on his thighs as he leaned down, tilting his head to peer at her. “Have you?” He made no effort to hide the journey his eyes took down her slim body. She was a petite little thing, but he could work with that. 

“No!” Violet exclaimed, her cheeks flushing. _Why was he looking at her like that_? She had just given away her darkest and most terrible secret and he took her here? Violet knew nothing about it, she was turning 15 in a few months and sure friends of hers had started to experiment but she had no interest in boys, or girls, just machines. Mechanics. Cogs and wheels and circuits did as they were told, they followed rules. The few attempts she had ever given to smiling that way at a boy had been met with rebuttal, or them not even noticing. _I’m not pretty._

Olaf shrugged. His offer was the only one on the table and he was holding onto the fact that the girl would need that escape, that way out. His mentors had guided him, and he could guide her. “That and alcohol. For a little while, Violet Baudelaire, you would forget your crimes and feel good.” He clarified. If he could get her into bed, then her transformation would be complete. She would hate herself for doing it, scared of what she was capable of, who she was becoming. She would pull away from her siblings and into his arms. 

She could feel the darkness of the fire creeping into her. Maybe Olaf was right. There was no getting away from it, from what she had done. _This is who I am._ There could be no redemption, only fleeting escape from the pain. “Am I a bad person?” She whispered, stepping up to his knees. 

Olaf looked up at her, sitting up and resting his hands on this thighs, waiting. “Most definitely.” Her skin looked so pale in the moonlight. 

Violet inched half a step forwards, between his legs. “And, this would be bad?” The rough material of his pyjama bottoms rubbed the side of her bare knee. 

Encouraged, Olaf brought his hands forwards to her, and stroked his fingers up the sides of her thighs only as high as the hem of her dress. “Being bad, can make you feel better,” He murmured. His chest swelled. The Man with a Beard but no Hair, and Woman with Hair but no Beard would be so proud of him. A Baudelaire gone bad. He could train her. Teach her. She already believed she had started one fire. She could do more. 

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” Her breath trembled from her chest, her fingers curling around the edge of the material around her legs. She wanted to feel nothing, or be punished, or both. Olaf could do that, couldn't he. He knew what it meant to hurt. 

Olaf took a deep breath, and nodded. “Take off your dress.” 

His words cause a spark in her belly and she obeyed without terms. Violet unbuttoned the pale pink dress from the top to the bottom, inch by inch letting her body be exposed, wanting him to see her for what she was. _A murderer. A liar._ She shrugged her arms out of it and it fell to the ground, feeling his touch snake round her thighs and pull her onto his lap. He stood slowly, just enough off the bed that he could turn them and lie her on her back, kneeling up between her legs to shed his nightshirt and peer down at her. He stroked his hand down her thigh to her hips and back up again. She was so perfect, untouched, not a blemish or a bruise on her skin to be seen. He hooked his fingers into her pants and tugged at them, dragging them down and off her feet. 

Violet instinctively tried to curl up, clench her thighs together to spare her dignity. Olaf just rested his hand on her knees, waiting for her to open them. She had to believe she wanted this, to ruin herself entirely because thats all she was worth. She stared up at his bare chest, the wispy grey hairs matching the wild hair on his head, wondering for the first time how old he was. He was indeed a lot older than her, but it didn't matter. _The older the better, she thought._ That would make it worse, wouldn't it? Thats what she deserved, anyway. Tentatively, she spread her legs either side of him, looking at him with such obvious nervousness he couldn't help but smile. 

“It’ll be alright,” He reassured her, taking in the sight of her lain out before him, his mind whirling wondrous images of how he would corrupt her. Not just tonight. But in the days and weeks to follow. This was just the first step on her downward spiral, and he was happy to show her the way. 

Violet nodded. Olaf reached into his pants and found himself quite hard already, but he stroked himself and took his time, wanting to revel in the moment that had walked into his bedroom that night, the victory he could celebrate. It wasn’t about fucking her. It was about ruining her. Ruining the eldest Baudelaire for the rest of her life, changing her into something better, something beautiful and dark and deadly. She would be so good for their side of the Schism. He could see the rows of aghast faces of the Volunteers, seeing her with him, holding his hand as they laughed and ran away from the fire they had just set. The thoughts stirred him to full height, and in a moment of saving her gentle nature, bent over her holding his weight on one arm before untucking his erection from his pants so she didn't get too overwhelmed seeing his length and wondering what on earth he was about to do to her. “Shhh now, alright Orphan. No screeching too loudly.” He spat on his hand and coated himself in the meagre wetness. “Don’t want them to wake and walk in on this.” He murmured, guiding himself to her entrance and pushing inside her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing at the feeling of him intruding inside her. “Ohh God…!” She whispered, not having felt anything like it. He felt big, and uncompromising as he pushed his cock inside her, a relaxed sigh coming over his features. “Stop… stop ow - !” She whimpered, and he slowed, careful to balance himself on both his hands and just use the rounding of his hips to pause, and push deeper again. He sensed she might not take him first go, so backed off and used what space he had to start a coaxing rhythm, fucking the girl gently. “Okay, okay…,” She panted, her hands holding around his arms for support as her body shifted a little each time he thrust into her. Violet felt herself relax, and the fog in her mind slowly clear. He was right, there was a clarity that happened when your whole body was focused on this one thing. She felt a weight lift from her shoulders and he started to enjoy the way her body felt underneath him. 

Olaf kept his features calm, though he wanted to grin from ear to ear. She could still become his bride on Friday night and he had already broken her in. He had thought maybe in a few years, or maybe never. Maybe they would simply get the Baudelaire fortune and kill them, their story the blueprint for countless other possibilities. More volunteers and more fortunes. 

Violet shut her eyes and let the sensations wash over her, the sharp pain between her legs - it made her wince sometimes but mostly it felt nice, the warm grunt of his breathing on her neck, the way his stubble rubbed her cheek when he leant close to her, his body moving like a sea creature in waves, his hips moving and moving himself inside her, in and out, in and out. She liked the rhythm of it, of being able to focus on these details. She wasn’t sure if it was pleasant or not, there was lots of songs she had heard or poems she had read that told her it should be blissful and orgasmic. But either way, she wasn’t thinking anymore and that felt _good._

He felt his pending desire building, and his motions rocketed more and more increasing the pace until he suddenly lurched harder against her, deeper, twitching almost and he groaned. “Fuck …, He growled, as he grew and came inside her, spurting himself deep into her belly and feeling the warmth of his cum dribble down his cock. Olaf sat back slowly, pulling out of her and sitting up, running a hand through his hair. He would have to sort that out tomorrow. Pharmacies were open 24 hours but he would be damned if he was going out now. No, he’d send one of the troupe in the morning. She would be his by then anyway. 

Violet winced slightly as he slipped out of her, unsure if she wanted it to be over, except for the emptiness that followed. She let her knees fall together again, a strange stickiness between her thighs that was tinged red when she dared herself to look. She huffed, flopping back on the bed and closing her eyes. Probably the only thing from all those biology classes that she could remember, and it was true. You did bleed. Olaf wiped himself down and adjusted his pyjamas back into place, laying down next to her. 

“If you're going to say it, say it now,” She sighed, feeling the bed dip as his weight lay next to her, both of them barely clothed, but she barely cared. Let them find her. Let them see what she really was. She didn't deserve them, not after what she’d done. 

“Say what?” Olaf propped himself sideways on his elbow and gazed at her. 

“I told you so?” She turned her head towards him, opening her eyes surprised to find him smiling at her.  

“I told you so,” He gloated, reaching for her hip and encouraging her closer to him. She did so, if only to continue this thrill of feeling absolutely nothing, for a little longer. Was it him? Or was it what he did to her? The fact he knew now who she was, what she had done, and didn't send her away. “I don't normally let young women sleep in my bed, though being as famous and brilliant an actor I am there are a great many who want to.”

That was it then. He’d done his part and helped her, though he couldn’t ease her conscience, as he had pointed out, he had helped her forget. But the high was over. The fog was creeping back in at the sides of her eyes. “Should I - go?” 

He huffed. “No Orphan. Thats my point.” He held his arm around her firmly. “You should stay right here. Unless you want to go back to your wimpy brother and sister and keep pretending you’re not the villain of your own story.” Olaf taught her carefully, needing her to embrace this. 

Violet shook her head, and cuddled close. She had never slept next to a man before, or _with_ a man before, never told anyone her secret and never felt relief of him accepting it. He understood. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

She had fallen asleep without much thought, at some point Olaf must have covered them in a blanket for when she woke, she was clutching it, as his arm was clutching her. They had fallen asleep together and there was no way she could have had such relief up in the attic room. It felt strange, but pleasant enough, waking with someones arm around you. There had been occasional times that she had fallen asleep on her mother, she couldn't distinctly remember them, perhaps her father had been out of town on business - as he often was, and as the eldest Violet had been allowed to stay up a little later than her brother, but succumbed to sleep none the less. 

But this was not like that. She had decided to stay in his bed, hide from her brothers sad face, his eyes believing it all still to be a mistake. That their parents hadn’t intended for them to be left here, arguing at Mr Poe’s insistence even though it was impolite. Violet knew it could be worse. They could have been split up into different homes - babies were always easier to find homes for, not older children with survivor guilt; or been dropped somewhere only temporary and moved on again, bumped about through the system until a suitable longer term Guardian was found. At least they came straight here. At least they came together. 

Violet squeezed her eyes shut again, not wanting to face the morning. _Or herself._ Olaf yet slept and she hoped her siblings did too, for the morning brought with it heady realisation of what she had done. Bunching the covers in one hand she had a look down the bed and saw the smears of red between her thighs, now dry and dark. She would have worried for the bedsheets were they clean to start with, but she suspected they hadn’t been changed for some time, given his meagre laundry facilities. A smile flitted across her face. She’d had sex. How peculiar an event to happen now. Her dress was discarded somewhere on the floor, her pants - nowhere to be seen. Olaf had removed them. She suppressed a giggle, how _bad_ of her. Having your underwear removed by a man! The thought made her blush. 

It was wrong, she was young and she’d been emotional. She knew that, somewhere in her heart. But for some reason, thats exactly why it had been the right thing todo. _Being bad can make you feel better._ Olaf had taught her this unexpected truth. Since the day of the fire, she could never be someone who had moonlight picnics and roses at the dinner table, romantic gestures by a boy at college as they fell blissfully into bed. Olaf’s greying peppery stubble and well-practiced love making, patient as he had been it was not what stories were written about. But he was her story now. 

She heard footsteps from upstairs, the attic door closing into the lopsided frame and hurried shoe-steps down the stairs. “Violet?” She heard her brother call out. Only the whistling wind answered him, and she followed the sound of his footsteps descending to the middle floor. “Violet!” He tried again, hushing Sunny. “Its okay, she's probably just making breakfast already.”

Violet shoved the rest of the blanket off and skirted out of bed, finding her dress and pulling her arms into it quickly. Olaf rolled onto his back groggily, frowning at being woken against his will. “What are you _doing,_ Orphan?” He yawned, sitting up and finding himself so close to the edge one leg fell right out the side. 

She began buttoning the dress from the top, her fingers fumbling. Why did she wear something with so many buttons? Where were her pants? She scanned the floor and paced around it as she buttoned her dress. “I heard Klaus. They're awake,” She stated anxiously. If she could dress and skip out of the room before Klaus came down the hallway, she could invent an easily plausible explanation of which her brother would accept, because he believed she didn't lie. Was that better? Saving his sensibilities from the truth by lying to him, or was she manipulating his good nature, knowing he would take her at her word? Violet glanced to the door. The lies were stacking up. 

“I think she's in there,” She heard her brother say. 

Olaf shrugged. “So let them find you.” 

“No!” Violet urged him, struggling to get to the bottom of her dress in time. 

The door opened cautiously. “Violet? Is that you?” 

Violet froze, her fingers stilling a few buttons away from the bottom, standing and leaving them go,  turning over her shoulder to Olaf. _Do something._ He rifled around between the layers of sheets and found her pants, tossing them at her, simultaneously telling her to turn back. _Face him_. 

She tried to catch them but missed in her haste, Klaus was already there, Sunny balanced on his hip. 

Klaus swallowed, looking between his sister and Count Olaf, who had a wicked smirk plastered across his face. Olaf knew Violet wouldn't see it from where she was, so could revel in watching the seams of their family fall apart in front of him. “Klaus I …” Violet stopped herself, her eyes falling slowly, a hitch of panic in her chest seeing her childish underwear on the floor by her feet. _This is what you did_. “You shouldn't be in here,” She said finally, looking back up at him with a coldness in her words Klaus didn't recognise. She quickly grabbed her pants and stood back up, clutching them behind her back.

Klaus pushed his glasses up his nose, watching her collect her underwear off the floor as though protecting him from seeing it. She was trying to hide it. Her dress was partially undone, seemingly she had dressed in a hurry. No socks, sneakers … he half turned, looking away from her, out the door to where he had come from and nothing had changed yet. Before he could see that his sister had spent the night in Count Olaf’s bed. He stared back finally, his jaw fixed. “Did he force you?” He asked gently, wishing the betrayal to be Olaf’s and not hers. 

For a moment or two she did nothing. Just fiddled her fingers in her pants and bit her lip nervously. What would he think of her? _You’re just using our parents death as an excuse,_ her mind taunted her _._ _Everyone who had thought well of you, was wrong_. Violet felt her panic return from the night before. This wasn’t right. Her brothers disdain, the way he looked at her. She had carelessly let a fire engulf their home and murder their parents, and lied about it. She had slept with a man more than twice her age. 

She wasn’t the same person anymore, she already knew it. Now Klaus knew it too. 

She blinked back her tears and turned away from him, walking to the side of the bed to sit next to Olaf. She folded her arms, stubbornly refusing to hurt anymore. She didn't want to hate herself, to see what she had done. So what if she had fucked him? It was just sex. Olaf had said it would help and _it did_. Why pretend like this was awful, when it hadn't been? He’d talked her down from the deepening chasm that she had stared down, threatened to pull her in. She had been seeing only darkness and ash wafting in on the upstreams, until he touched her. She shook her head.“…No.” 

Klaus said nothing at first, but moved his eyes to Olaf and the gratifying triumphant look to him. He wasn’t even trying to hide what he had done to her. The thought made Klaus nauseous. Olaf leant across the bed and touched his hand to her shoulder, kissing her there gently, turning his head just enough his eyes locked with Klaus’, a toothy smirk taunting the boy. _Look at her._  

Klaus felt his emotions well uncontrollably. His beautiful perfect sister. He had thought her smart and grounded, shouldering responsibility and hardship with only courage and a deep breath. Why had she given in to … to what could only have been Olaf’s doing? What had he said to her to make her give up her - no, it was too much to think. “I brought your cardigan down, I thought you might be cold,” He murmured, unable to focus despite his prescription glasses. It slipped from his fingers, falling into a little blue heap on the floor. A bright dot of lavender blue against a dirty mustard yellow and brown floor. Klaus stormed from the room without another word, cradling Sunny tightly. 

Violet made to run after him. “Klaus!” 

“Leave him.” Olaf barked. He shifted over the bed and pulled her back down to sit beside him, settling his hand on top of her restless hands, just as he had done in the night. She whined and tried to yank her hands away, her eyes imploring him, but he was strong and he made her look at him. “Better he hate you for this, than that _other thing_ you did,” He reminded her darkly. 

She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. Olaf was right, of course. 

There was nothing she could do about it now. Klaus had seen how her pain manifested in her behaviour. The death of their parents, being told by Mr Poe that day on Briney Beach without a shred of empathy, ’ _Perished means killed’_ he had said with a token smile. It hadn't felt real. How could anyone hold it together after that? How could a girl with no home and nowhere to go, no money and nothing, _we have absolutely nothing,_ be expected to care for her siblings, carry on and cook roast beef and believe everything would be alright with a sprinkle of sugar and a smile? At least the knot in her gut and the slight sting that remained between her legs was real. 

Olaf frowned at her, she was gone again, that distant look in her eyes that took her away from herself. She was dealing with so much, too much for her age - but that was what made the timing just right. Struggling to keep herself upright and her mind focused was a task in itself, Olaf was eager to bend her from it, break her just enough so she would fall, her mind scatter, and hear only him. “Get me a coffee Orphan,” He said gruffly, giving her a shove off the bed as he went in search of some clothes. 

“Hmm?” She heard him say something, but hadn’t been able to discern what. She had been on the beach, looking at the fog and the mysterious figure that moved through it. Violet was sure she could see someone else, not Mr Poe, but a hand extended. An invitation. 

Olaf yanked a shirt from his wardrobe, the hanger swinging wildly as he pulling himself into it, then a patterned neckerchief around the open shirt collar and tucked down, one of the few habits that made him actually look like a Count. “Coffee.” He repeated. “And put your pants on.” 

Opening her hands like the blooms of a flower, she saw that she still clutched them, and mutely stood from the bed, turning away as she stepped into them, smoothing her dress back down. “Coffee.” She said to herself, nodding. Why did grown ups like coffee so much? Perhaps she should try that too. Her father used to say coffee is what keeps the engines burning, thinking he was being amusing for trying to make a mechanical joke. She’d rolled her eyes at the time, but thinking of it now only filled her with sadness, instead. She hadn’t appreciated his efforts and thought him silly, feelings she now regretted. Had it been normal teenage temperament? Or had she always secretly harboured this wickedness? If only she could have told him at the time how it made her smile, and love him more. 

Her feet moved by themselves as she ascended the staircase to her shared attic room first, cinching the thin white belt round her waist, all she had to ‘get dressed’ for the day, white ankle socks pulled up and sneakers. Violet looked down at herself. She didn't feel much like herself in these clothes. How could so much change, and yet your reflection remained the same. Why couldn’t your outward self portray what you felt, who you were becoming on the inside? Something told her to get rid of the dress. _Throw it away. Burn it. You’re not that girl anymore._

Violet didn't expect the spanish inquisition as she headed into the kitchen, but she didn't expect silence either. She glanced at her brother, as she filled the metal coffee pot with water, closing the lid with a clank, and resting it on the stove. It took a few attempts to make the damn thing light, creating its usual rush of flames before steadying. Sunny banged on a pot as she waited for Klaus to finish making breakfast, something Violet would have usually taken care of. He had made two portions, one for himself and Sunny, leaving Violets bowl empty as he scooped Sunny into his arm again still brandishing her wooden spoon, taking their breakfast to the dining table. Violet turned and leant against the kitchen island sadly. It was probably for the best. _Better him hate you for this._ Olaf spoke to her in her mind again. She had thought him so careless a Guardian, peculiar and overly vain for seeking applause to his little musical number, man-handling Sunny in the air only for the show. How was it he was so right, when it came to this? 

_Because he is wicked, just like you._

Violet covered her face in her hands. Her poor siblings. They were the real victims, this life forced upon them suffering through the hardship they didn't deserve, even if she did. She had promised their mother she would always look after them, always protect them. She had thought this meant protect them from Count Olaf and his games but she had failed in that, already. Klaus had a bruise on his cheek and a crack in his heart, the only way she could fulfil her mothers promise now was to get them out of there. Somewhere happy, full of sweet smelling flowers, and freshly baked cakes and a waving hand at the school gates. 

“Sunny and I are going to use Justice Strauss’s legal library.” Klaus announced, cutting through her thoughts. She lifted her hands from her face and looked around with a nod. “Do you, want to come? I had an idea that might, help us.” 

“Kaboo!” Sunny agreed, her little hand opening and closing as if reaching to hold Violets hand in turn. 

Violet shook her head. “Maybe later.” _You don't get to get away with this._

Klaus waited for a minute or two, silently hoping she would change her mind. But the kettle whistled as the water readied to boil, and instead she concentrated on making two cups of coffee, his just coffee grounds and water, hers with a little milk, to see if it would help the flavour. “Klaus, I know I cant say something that will explain - “ She started, a steaming mug in each hand, but when she turned, he was already gone. Her shoulders slumped a little, distracted by the two circles of dark brown heated liquid. 

If she spilt one, it would burn her skin. 

She stared at them, unmoving. 

Violet slid them onto the kitchen side and walked purposefully into the hallway, unhooking the phone and dialling the operators number, connecting her eventually to Mulctuary Money Management. “Mr Poe. Its Violet Baudelaire.” 

“Well hello, what a pleasure to hear from you. I must say I am quite surprised receiving your call at this early hour. You’re lucky that banking hours have only just begun. What is it I can do for you?” Mr Poe replied from his grey office in the City. 

Violet wound the cord around her finger, holding the receiver to her ear. “Count Olaf has a question. He asked me to call.”

“Oh I see, well then, go right ahead. I suppose I did say you could contact me if you had any questions,” Mr Poe rightly remembered. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, wheezing into it. “Sorry, do go on.” 

Her foot tapped nervously. “Count Olaf says that he doesn’t have enough room for all of us. Most of the house needs repairs and, it wouldn't be fair to keep us all if he couldn't provide a suitable home. He think he needs to return -“ She tried to rephrase it more politely.  “He wants to know if it is possible to find another home for Klaus and Sunny.”

Mr Poe sat back in his banking chair in alarm. “Oh my, well that is unfortunate. I had hoped you children would get on well with Count Olaf and his very large home, seeing as though it is so similar to the one you did have, that burnt down.” 

“Like I said, theres repairs that need to be done making most of the rooms unusable. And children take up a lot of space,” Violet reiterated. She needed to make it sound plausible, as though it came from Olaf. 

Olaf came slowly down the stairs from his bedroom, fully dressed having taken his time combing back his hair, a spray of cologne here and there now there was a reason to make an effort. He was immediately troubled seeing Violet on the phone. He hurried down the rest of the staircase. 

“Don’t I know it, don't I know it. Edgar and Albert are always pestering me for more space for their toys,” Mr Poe huffed in agreement. It made him cough again, and Violet waited until he was done until she continued.

“So can you do it?”

He sighed. “Is there really no way that Count Olaf can be Guardian to all three of you? It would be sad to think of you all split-up around the City.”

“No Klaus and Sunny have to stay together.” She said quickly. “Count Olaf is most insistent - its their welfare he is concerned for. But I can stay. I’m happy to stay,” Violet said firmly, not noticing the person who moved behind her, his clothes mostly blending in with the mismatched dusty lampshade on the hallway table, where she stood. 

“Well, if you're sure,” Mr Poe said finally. The Baudelaire Orphans were becoming quite the headache. 

Violet nodded, releasing the cord from around her finger realising she had been squeezing it so tightly the end of her finger was beetroot. “Quite sure. When can you come and pick them up?”

“Thats odd, you do sound in quite the rush. But I’m afraid the paperwork alone will take me the rest of the day,” Mr Poe informed her, coughing into his handkerchief. 

“The morning then?” She pressed. 

“Before banking hours tomorrow, I should have found another suitable Guardian by then. If not, then I guess your brother and sister will have to stay with me and my family for a few nights. I just hope my wife has bought enough food for two extra portions of dinner.” 

“Thank you Mr Poe. I’ll let them know the news.” She said, a mixture of sadness and happiness swirling uncomfortably together. It was the worst thing she had ever done - _thats not true._ Her mind reminded her. It was the second worst thing she had ever done, but this time there was the silver lining that it was for the right reason. She was doing what her mother wanted, keeping them safe, looking after them. She hadn’t envisaged it would mean keeping them safe from herself, but if thats the place she found herself, then her promise didn't change. _They deserve better than me for a sister._ They deserved better than this house, than Count Olaf. She wanted them to be happy. 

“And say hello to Count Olaf. I am most looking forward to his performance tomorrow night. Goodbye now,” Mr Poe said, ever cheerful. 

“Goodbye.” Violet replaced the phone on the hook, shutting her eyes, not yet taking her hand off the object. That was it then. Decision made. 

A voice hummed behind her. “Curious. I don't remember saying any of that,” Olaf murmured darkly, folding his hands behind his back. 

“Count Olaf!” She jumped in fright, turning. He was right behind her, narrowing his eyes and leaning over making her stumble back against the hallway table. She felt his eyes bore into her, just as they had done the first time they walked into this very hallway. “How are you, doing this morning?” She attempted politely, as if he hadn’t just heard that entire conversation, catching her in the deception.

He chuckled, standing straight again. “Oh, better, and _better._ ” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know theres been a bit of delay with his chapter, college has just been really busy.

 

Olaf peered at her for a while, his hands clasped behind his back, seeming taller than before. He had the best posture of any man she knew, holding himself tall despite things he had done. She wondered if she would ever get like that, be able to walk among a crowd with her head held high caring not for her past. “Thats good to hear.” She cleared her throat gingerly, moving to the side and slipping out of his gaze, though the moment she turned the large stain-glass eye at the end of the dining room stared back at her, and she faltered.

“You’re quite a proficient liar.” He said, his voice following behind her. She kept walking, and his footsteps kept pace with hers.

“I had no choice.” She said over her shoulder. Violet wondered to his purpose in pointing out her flaws, bringing them to the fore in an ugly, glaring confrontation. She knew she had lied, and implicated him in to it and that lying was wrong; - a white lie about if you had watered the plants or not, when you had forgotten, only to quickly nip around the house and do it now was insignificant, and hurt no-one unless you counted the plants feeling a little parched. But this was a big lie, to a prominent member of the banking community that handled their parents affairs.

Olaf wasn’t going to let it drop. She had broken onto his lap last night, had been caught in the act by her brother this morning, and been caught once again by Olaf now. The evidence of her wrong doing was everywhere, reflected in the eyes of those around her. Olaf wanted that fact to be seared into her mind. “Hmm.” He hummed mysteriously, enjoying the unseen narrative of them starting fires together. There was so many ways to do it, so many things that could be accomplished with it. It was destruction, but it paved the way for something new. “You could argue it was for the greater good. Or that it was, for your benefit?” He posited, grabbing her arm and hauling her to a stop. He could destroy Violet Baudelaire, putting two fingers up to Beatrice and win the praise from his mentors all in one.

She could make _him_ , better.

“What do you mean?” Her voice hesitated. Violet didn't pull away, she wasn’t scared of him as such, only how he could somehow see the truth of her, as though she were nothing but glass, a crystal flute that took the light of something good and split it into a thousand colours, none of them going the same way, but beaming off in different paths each with their own unintended goal.

Olaf did a small, chuffed sort of smile. “Its obvious. You can’t face them.” She squeezed her eyes shut. _You’re weak._ Was all she could hear, and it twisted inside her making her bend and bow as he spoke, shaking her head. _You don't care for anyone but yourself._ Olaf brought her closer. “Seeing their _weepy little faces_ , reminds you that your carelessness cost them their childhood. The lives of your parents,” He said in a slow, rough tone. She felt his fingers stroke down her cheek, promising her a gentle smile was waiting for her. Violet slowly opened her eyes, unfurling her body feeling a little safer again. “So really, it was a selfish thing to do.” He calmly told her, non-judgemental, accepting. His thumb brushed under her eye as thought the ghost of a tear remained there, and cupped her cheek, keeping her gaze tilted up to him. “But thats okay.”

How could he be so calm after what she had just done? Did he not think her a monster? “Will you tell Mr Poe?” Her voice whispered.

“Me?” He clarified with a soft chuckle. “Oh no no, this is your doing.”

“I keep doing it! It keeps happening …,” She whined, fidgeting and stamping her foot in frustration. The more she tried to be good, it seemed, the worse she was becoming. It was there, innately crushing the things she tried to do and ruining them, showing her her true intentions, a darker colour palette than the pastels she covered herself with. 

He nodded, murmuring, “Tell me.”

Violet pulled her arm from his grip and he let her, watching her pace the house into the library and finding a small two-seater sofa by the window. “I thought I was protecting them. But I’m just being selfish. I lied to Mr Poe even though I know its wrong!” She narrated as she walked, Olaf letting her expedite her own descent into villainy. He merely had to keep watch, and push at the right time, when she wobbled on the edge and needed a touch of encouragement to fall.

He stood a metre or so in front of her, glaring down as though a teacher to an errant pupil. “Yes you did. You’re splitting up your family and why? Because _you feel guilty_.” He emphasised slowly. “You’re punishing yourself, fine, but you’re punishing them too.”

Violet dropped onto the sofa, finding her conviction momentarily. “I know it’ll be hard for them but they're resilient, they're strong -“

“Being turned away, _sent away,_ unwanted by a cruel girl they were unlucky enough to have for a sister,” He spat viciously, advancing on her taking a scruff of her dress and forcing her back against the cushions confrontationally. She yelped in shock, instinctively curling up but he was right there, in her face and there was nowhere to go. His piercing eyes held hers in an aura that Violet could only describe as menace. She could almost see herself in them, her reflection curved like a fishbowl, warped and bent. Violet trembled, finding herself nodding, agreeing with everything. It was true, it was true. “There there,” He sighed, slowly releasing his grip from something confining, to a comforting hand on her shoulder instead. Olaf eased himself down beside her on the sofa. “Such a pretty girl. It pains me to see you so glum.”

Violet was starting to feel so removed from herself, she didn't know which way was up anymore. It was all so, messed up. “What do I do?” Her voice whispered, lifting her head and brushing her fringe from her eyes.

“Carry on.” He said, his hand supportively on her shoulder. “When Mr Poe arrives I’ll pretend it was I, Count Olaf that was the horrible one. You will remain here. Your brother and sister can blame me all they want. I’ll protect that last shred of goodness for them. For you.”

“But I’m implicating you, and you still want me to stay? Everything I’ve done, I’m danger to anyone around me -“ She protested earnestly, perplexed by Olaf’s growing smile. How could he be so calm? Shouldn't he be grounding her? Docking her pocket money or whatever discipline technique he decided on as her Guardian? _Don't be silly, you're not a child anymore_. There was no sort of punishment he could hand down that would free her from her crimes, living here, alone with him, without her family, that was her punishment by itself. _No, you want his attention. You want to feel nothing but his hands on you._ She pressed her thighs together with a whine, shaking her head feeling her heart race as her panic rose. It’s just a panic attack, she tried to reason. You’ve been through a trauma.

“I’ll never turn you away, Violet Baudelaire,” His voice soothed, Olaf’s hand snaking from her shoulder around her back, pulling her gently to him, granting her permission to come to him as though it hadn’t all been planted from the start. _So meek._ She leant against him, tucking her feet up under her legs letting herself relax against his chest, curling her arms in and shutting her eyes as his arms enveloped her. Olaf was warm, and his blazer smelt musty, but the feeling of his arms tightly around her was comforting. He would keep her safe from herself.

Olaf gave her this time, this quiet, contemplative couple of moments where she could let her mind and her body relax; inadvertently not only associating him with such serenity, such security, but bonding them more than any purposeful violent act could. His breathing was deep and slow, committing every ounce of it to memory. The softness of her long hair, the feminine scent that was only just beginning to blossom on her skin, those hormones propelling her into womanhood thanks to their interactions last night. She was just bundle of limbs cradled on his lap, there for him to mould and move to his bidding. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me,” He murmured eventually, coaxing her secrets from her.

Violet slowly peeled herself upright, rubbing the side of her hand along under her nose as she sniffed, wondering not for the first time what a mess she must look like, to such an accomplished man. “I’ve never drunk coffee before.” She laughed briefly. “I tried, once, but it didn't taste nice.”

Olaf huffed with the corner of his lips in an upturned smirk. He had been hoping for something a little more meaningful, but these little details were in their own way telling. She was letting him in and the more she did that, the better. “Go and get them then.” He shuffled her to the side off his lap plonking her back on the cushions, only realising how close she had been when his arms were suddenly devoid of her, and empty. Olaf watched her go, smoothing down the back of her dress that bopped from side to side as she walked, fighting the impulse to draw her right back into his arms. There was a bigger gain to be won.

Upon her return, Olaf had resettled the cushions and was leaning regally into them with his legs crossed, one arm travelling along the back of the sofa, akin to a king waiting for the arrival of someone important. She sat neatly beside him and offered his cup, looking curiously at her own and sipping it once he had done the same. “What do you think?” He prodded.

“Bitter,” She replied, smacking her lips together with a sort of wince.

Olaf reached inside his blazer finding the small metal cantina, flipped the cap off and poured some into her coffee, then his too. “Here. Try now.” He gestured with a nod, using his teeth at the side to grab the cap and force it on again growling frustratedly at it as he did so, then hid the thing away.

“What was that?” Violet swirled her coffee mug and smelt the vapours, giving it another sip. This time the coffee induced not just warmth from the temperature, but a different, pleasant sort of warmth that settled it the pit of her stomach and made her tingle behind the knees.     

“Whisky,” He replied gruffly, gulping his own coffee now with greater enthusiasm.

Violet bit her bottom lip, wanting to grin. This quiet thrill of doing something you know you should be doing was, addictive. “Isn’t whisky an alcoholic drink?” She checked, feeling immediately wicked that such rule breaking excited her.

“A trivial concern,” He winked, patting her knee. Violets breath stumbled a moment, a peculiar throb bursting to life deep between her legs. It was strange, but pleasant, and made her acutely aware of herself in a way she had never been before. She clenched her pelvic muscles, feeling the rub of material from her panties. The press of the velvet sofa on the backs of her thighs. His warm, steady breathing only just reaching her neck.

Her cheeks flushed though she didn't have the chance to become aware of it, for a cacophony of noise had burst through the front door making Olaf grind his teeth and his whole body acutely tense. Violet glanced to him, the change of demeanour making it tragically obvious he preferred her company alone.

“Late as always,” Olaf said gruffly, abandoning the mug on the floor as he stood. His troupe bounded into the house and split off in all directions, armfuls of costumes and props and _noise_. Violet drummed her fingers on the coffee mug, ducking her gaze somewhat avoiding the double take of The Bald Man, the momentary pause in his step to stare at her when he the library door. He made her feel far more awkward than Olaf ever did. “Did you bring what I wanted?” Olaf asked in annoyance, heading to the door as if looking for someone in particular.

“Yep, right here boss,” The Hook Handed Man said cheerfully, rifling through a deep carpet bag but not finding what he wanted so dropped at his feet, checking a second bag at which Olaf sighed and rolled his eyes. “Here! I knew it must have got muddled up somewhere between the rutabagas and - “

“Shutup.” Olaf abruptly cut him off, snatching the white paper bag and swinging the door shut blocking him out the room. He stepped slowly over to Violet, a concentrated look in his eyes as he unrolled the top of the bag and fished out a small box, checking it over quickly for its contents and then punching the single, round pill onto his palm. “This is for you.” Olaf presented it to her, pressing his lips together thinly when she didn’t just blindly take it.

“What is it?” Her frown knitted in concern.

Dumping the bag Olaf dropped onto the couch beside her and pressed the thing into her hand. “Trust me. Just take it,” Olaf urged, _did he really have to spell it out for her_? He wasn’t cut out for this, she was a smart girl, older than her years and should know what happened when you got emotional and had unprotected sex with a man _still very virile_ though much older than you. “It’ll make me feel better. That last night wont … _create_ …” Olaf struggled, her plain but puzzled eyes staring at him for answers. “It was not meant to be a moment of divine conception.”

Violet blinked _._ _Of course_. The thought the … consequences hadn't even crossed her mind. She recalled the voice of the ‘Personal and Social Education’ teacher - a post only coming into existence after the spate of pregnancies in the senior year group, telling them repeatedly how _it only takes one one time folks!_ “Oh.” She quickly plucked the pill from his palm and lay it on her tongue, using the now only vaguely warm coffee to wash it down. “Good thinking,” She said sheepishly.

“Good girl.” He scrunched the box and the bag up together, rising to his feet again now the necessaries were done with. “The troupe and I will be at the theatre for most of the day, preparing for opening night, and your debut performance.” Olaf flung the door open again and the actors seemed to leap to their feet hiding the fact they had been sitting and waiting for him.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I’m very mechanically minded and I wouldn't mind the distraction,” She called, an unknown tug in her gut propelling her to stay with him. _Don't be alone._ That the four walls and the eyes staring at her exposing her would on her own, be unmanageable. That Klaus and Sunny would return from across the road and she would have no way to fend off their questions, or their silent stares.

“No. We’ll have plenty of time for theatrical projects once your siblings have gone.” He stared at her a moment, internally debating how to deal with her. If he left her here, the interfering brother could say something, have read something about marriages and plays and nosy neighbours playing a judge _with a real marriage contract for added realism._ Or could he trust that Violets seated self-loathing was enough that even his protests would not change her mind? She had rung the banker of her own fruition, she must believe herself so deeply wicked to do such a thing. Olaf moved back over to her, resting his hand on her head and lightly, indulgently stroking her hair. He didn't need to, but he wanted to, and she didn't move away. “This is your last day with them. It should be a pleasant one … so don't let your booky brother poison you with whatever it is he _thinks_ he's doing.” He was pleased when she shuffled toward him and hugged her arms around his hips and waist, their positions mirroring their dynamic so perfectly Olaf could not have scripted such a thing to happen. The fact it was so organic, this need to hide away from her pain, isolating herself from her very family, led him to believe the scheme however unplanned, was his best yet. “He can’t help you.” Olaf finished, sealing the lid on Violets doubts.

Violet nodded, he was right, of course. 

 

——————-

 

Klaus had returned from Justice Strauss’s legal library about a half hour before dinnertime, his steps followed by Count Olaf’s deeply thoughtful eyes, as he ascended the stairs with a book tucked under his arm. His day had been a long one, quitting only when his eyes were so weary from absorbing tome after tome that his vision was almost blurry. He pushed up his glasses to rub one eye, nodding and accepting the

The Count had ordered take out, allowing Violet, Klaus and Sunny time together. In other words, they were locked in the attic room until the morning. Considering this was there last night together - since Violet gallantly called the Banker that morning for them to be removed from his care. Olaf had hushed her trembles telling her to wait upstairs for them, there was no need to cook. He’d given her extra pillows from a wardrobe in one of the many uninhabited rooms. Given her the flask from inside his blazer pocket in case she couldn't sleep later. She had turned the thing over in her hands, part tin part inlaid and engraved wood, tracing the familiar eye insignia with her finger. Olaf knew he was over-doing it, but using the phrase ‘ _to kill someone with kindness’_ was likely the most accurate description of his actions.

_Be her shoulder to cry on._

_Be the keeper of her secrets._

_Be the one she runs to with all her emotions and fears and she will be yours._

Olaf closed his eyes as a wolfish grin drew across his face. She was a delightful little thing, so lost and scared, like a bird with a broken wing who needed a strong and caring hand to scoop her up onto his palm; place her in cage for his keeping. For her protection. He hadn’t yet told his mentors of the new plan, lest it fall through and she needed to be disposed of along with the others. He would not be deemed a disappointment for the original plan actually _working._ But by morning, the brother and the biting baby would be gone, his bride safely in his arms and walked to the altar to say her vows without any interference at all.

His elbows rested on the arms of the sofa chair and arching his fingers together, as if the tips of his fingers were the spires of a church and his thumbs were the Count and his Countess walking out together hands clasped. It was a wondrous sight his mind had conjured. Though, it was to be a theatre and not a church - a theatre was far more fitting anyway considering his immense talent and lifelong interest in the stage, not only was he marrying the girl in the place that held his prayers and dreams, but he would be at her side for her debut, the first of many delightful roles he could write for her. His mind already brimmed with ideas and stories, but first, he had to keep this very important role going until tomorrow night. 

Would she come to him tonight? The corner of his lips twitched with the possibility of conquest. With whisky on her breath and pretty stumbling words pouring from her lips as she gasped at his touch, the feeling of him deep inside her again. Olaf growled and pushed himself from the armchair to distract himself from such thoughts, and hunted for a bottle of wine. 

He couldn't force the nagging doubt out of his mind, that perhaps Klaus would pry too far, push in the wrong place and Violet would stutter her words as her perceived guilt unloaded in anguished sobs. 

Olaf stopped at the bottom of the staircase, letting his eyes cast upwards for a moment, hoping he had made the right decision. 

 

———————

 

Violet sat cross legged by the window at the far end of their shared attic room, her chin in her hand as she stared out into the bleak garden, and the greener well tended gardens beyond it. She was pre-occupied, feeling almost removed from herself as though she wasn’t really sitting here and she wasn’t really Violet Baudelaire - not the one her brother was talking to anyway. _Thats because you're not the same girl._ He only saw her former self, when really that was just the shell. Inside she had irrevocably changed, it screamed at her every waking moment, why couldn't he see it? She felt there must be _something_ , some sign of her wickedness blighting her skin, her outward visage cracking and letting him see the darkness inside it.

“If I hadn’t had the whole day for research then I’m sure this would have taken me the whole night too, but Justice Strauss took Sunny to help dig up her vegetable garden,” Klaus continued, unsure if his sister was listening, but he was eager to improve her mood with what he had found. There was a certain amount of guilt he harboured for the way he treated his sister this morning, and had decided upon their return to Olaf’s he would act completely normal, and pretend everything was working out - for he had read something which could prove to be the key. “So, at least Sunnys eaten plenty of carrots, if nothing else for dinner.” He huffed.

“Yawwry,” Sunny added, flopping on to the pile of extra pillows with a cheeky smile, enjoying tumbling about on the cushions like a soft play.

“I didn't think you could eat parsnips raw,” Klaus replied, a puzzle look straining his features that told Violet he was attempting to remember a line from a book somewhere deep in his memory. “Anyway, putting the parsnips to one side, I did find something.”

Violet tore her gaze from the horizon finally, folding her hands in her lap, the noise of his voice and the one now in her head made everything _too loud_. “Klaus, if you’ve been reading psychology text books all day to explain to me that I’m processing trauma by what you saw then I really - I don't want to hear it,” She said determinedly, cutting off any ideas he had of lecturing her in the stages of grief she was going through, using whichever model that psychologist preferred.

“Oh ..,” Klaus pushed his glasses up his nose, pausing. “No, that wasn’t …,” He walked over to where Violet sat and debated what to do, biting the inside of his cheek deciding finally to sit too, dropping to the floor beside her. “I mean, yes, we have been through a trauma, and grief is a staged process and although I don't think I will able to understand I can, forgive you for - “

“I said don’t!” Violet snapped suddenly, her hands in front of her as if halting an oncoming train. Except it was the truth that would hurtle at high speed and crush her bones to powder and not a tube shaped form of transportation.

_Now you’re shouting at him too;_

_No, he just doesn’t understand!_

_How could he, he’s a good person a kind person and you’re sending him away_

_I have to!_

Violet buried her face in her hands, digging her fingers in her scalp clawing at the words the voice reminding her how this one act infected everything, even this conversation with Klaus. She had snapped at him and shouted at him and it wasn’t kind, it wasn’t gentle or understanding or how a big sister should behave. She sighed and sat up straight again, touching her fingers to his knee in apology.

He gave her a weak smile, placing his hand atop hers supportively. He could see the pain in her eyes, but didn't understand what it was. “You didn't come to the library.”

Violet shrugged lamely. “I didn't think you wanted me there. This morning it was just, silence.” _I'll never turn you away Violet Baudelaire_. The memory his words calmed her somewhat. 

“Booya,” Sunny said, who had crawled over to touch her hand to her sisters arm. Sunny used her as counterweight as she unsuccessfully tried to stand up, forcing Violet to reach around and catch her before she plopped back on her bottom. The two older siblings exchanged a small smile. Their sister was growing up, and their parents would never see these stages. Learning to stand. Her first steps.

“I honestly didn’t now what to say,” Klaus admitted, had he failed her this morning? Would it have been better to try and talk about it? But for all the books he had read, Klaus knew when it came to real life and anything beyond playing quest based board games at his friends houses, he was still a 12 year old boy and things like, like his big sister getting into bed with _some man_ were just, beyond what he was able to deal with. “I still don’t.” There was an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, which Violet distracted herself from by playing with Sunny who clambered over her lap. “I’m not cross with you Violet; if he’s somehow helping you grieve and move on then, I’m grateful. But I just don't see how a man as awful as he is could possibly have your best interests at heart.”

“He’s not always horrid,” She murmured, knowing it wouldn't sound like a sane thing to say when she couldn't explain why or how she needed him or his counsel.

“He struck me across the face, and then everyone laughed,” Klaus protested in a humiliated, pained tone. “And he held Sunny dangerously high in the air and - and I think this play isn’t just a play,” He sniffed, quickly wiping the sleeve of his red wooden jumper under his nose focusing not on how degrading it had been to have a room full of adults laugh and jeer at him; instead focusing on the practical and doing something about their terrible situation, one their parents would not have wanted no matter how much Mr Poe insisted he had interpreted their Will correctly. “I think this is how he's trying to steal our fortune. By marrying you literally, not figuratively.” Klaus used the wall to push himself to his feet and retrieved the book “Nuptial Law” that he had successfully borrowed from Justice Strauss’s library. 

“But I’m too young to get married,” Violet said in a puzzled voice. 

Klaus flipped through the heavy tome finding his page marker. “The only nuptial requirements are a statement of active acquiescence, utilising Loco Parentis if necessary, and the signing of an explanatory document - “

“Okay stop,” Violet interrupted, the string of complicated words further irritating her already bruised mind.

Klaus puffed, determined to get her to see. “But this is the part that made me think - “

“Stop, Klaus! I don’t want to hear it!” She rallied at him, standing and marching to the other end of the small room with he hands over her ears. “You’ve just said we’ve been through the mill; our parents are _dead_ and our house is nothing but ash…” Violets voice projected as she replied, as though he were far away or the room was louder than it really was. _You were lazy and childish and didn't blow the candles out you didn't turn your soldering iron off did you - Its your fault Violet; “_ Stop!” She shouted suddenly, turning against the door squeezing her eyes tight and curling into the wood as if it were his chest, his blazer, his arms around her the smell of his day old cologne and the whisky; praying Olaf would hear her and give her exactly that. Her guilt was getting worse, she needed Klaus out of here - away and safe before this consumed her.

“I didn't say anything,” Klaus replied quietly, peering at his sister in worry. He scooped Sunny up and put her on the bed as he walked past it, tentatively calling Violet back round with his hand on her shoulder. “Violet?” 

Violets shoulder jerked at the touch, although it was a welcome one it wasn’t the one she craved. “I don't want to spend all night talking about your conspiracy theories. Olaf is our Guardian now and if he wants to involve us in the play then fine; really it would be a nice distraction from this awful house and the eyes everywhere staring at me knowing what I’ve done,” She tried to explain away her behaviour and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Its like theres this storm that wont stop going round and round in my head,” She whispered, picking at her fingers at the dirt that seemed to have engraved itself into the lines of her fingerprints. When she looked up at him, her younger brother seemed older than his years already, burdened with more than he should. Who was she to give him more to worry about? He deserved the rest of his childhood and teenage years to be peaceful and normal with a full nights sleep and adoptive parents to take him to his favourite bookshop on the weekend, stopping by the bakery for something crusty for Sunny to crunch on.

“What do you mean, _the eyes know what you've done_?” He didn't want to ask, but the phrase nagged him and he was a researcher at heart, it meant searching for answers no matter where they led.

She drew away and un-looped her belt, seeing Sunny getting comfortable under the covers made her think they should just stop and rest, be together for this last night and not spend the whole night reading or talking trying to figure out Olaf’s scheme, if there even was on. Klaus seemed to think so. Violet didn't want to think about it. “Oh, nothing,” She sighed, sitting next to Sunny as she unlaced her sneakers and peeled off her socks, placing each sock in each shoe meticulously. “Just, guilty for sleeping with Olaf I guess,” She lied, looking up and over her shoulder at her brother, knowing this should sate him for now and by the morning she wouldn't have to face his questions ever again.

“It was a bit of a silly idea,” Klaus smiled, leaving the book to take a seat beside her too. “Sorry Violet, but it was.” He helped the two girls into bed and lay the blanket over them.“He’s like, _old_.”

Klaus wore a caring sort of expression that she recognised from her mother. There was a likeness of both her parents in Klaus, where Violet looked nothing much like her mother at all, but was the image of her dad.

“Men go grey earlier than women do. You don't know how old he is,” Violet said, curling and shifting trying to get comfortable in the cramp bed that wasn’t long enough.

Klaus decided it was best not to say anymore for tonight. Something was bothering his sister that she wasn’t yet able to verbalise, her mind as exhausted as her body, it seemed. “I take it you want the bed for tonight?”

Violet shifted a little, tucking Sunny into the crook between her shoulder and knees and curled her arm around the toddler holding her safely. “Squeeze behind me?” She begged, making as much space as she could.

There wasn’t really room, but Klaus nodded, and eased himself into bed behind her, resting his hand on her hip. “Night both,” He sighed, sitting up again on his elbow momentarily to remove his glasses and set them on the floor. He felt her hand grab for his and move it round her, silently asking him to hold her.

It felt strange to hold his sister this way, but she needed him, and he would do his best to look after the two of them. He just had to figure out a way for Violet to not participate in the play tomorrow, or at least out-manouver Olaf at the last minute. The bed was too uncomfortable to sleep anyway, so Klaus closed his eyes and used the silence to his advantage, setting his mind to action.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I borrowed a few lines from the show, the scene with Klaus and Olaf at the table. I wanted to give it that feel of realism within the universe. That whats happening has its place within the running timeline of the episode. Its only a few lines, you'll see them.

Before Violet woke, Klaus edged himself out of bed and tucked the large book under his arm, the only evidence he needed as he headed downstairs. He wanted to confront Olaf before his sister had a chance to fret over the implications of tonights performance. Sleep had not been his friend last night, and thus had plenty of time to decide on a suitable course of action. Klaus sat himself on a dining chair at the head of the table, opposite Olaf’s.

He seemed tired, or hungover, or both. Olaf rubbed his fingers over the throbbing in his temple, sighing. What was the boy doing up so early? Olaf himself was not an early riser but today was an important day. The banker would be collecting two obstacles from his path, and his play would debut to rapturous applause - of which there was still a fair bit to organise. Would he let Violet try the dress on beforehand? Or would it be better to be surprised, be traditional and not see her in it until she came to him on stage…? Olaf had dreamt of it that night. “What are you doing here, you’re supposed to be in your room,” Olaf complained at the interruption of such wonderful thoughts. He was kept warm by the dirty gold hued dressing gown - Klaus assumed it would have been brightly coloured at one stage of its life, now dressed over his dull brown pyjamas.

Klaus was already dressed in that bright red woolly jumper that Olaf disliked. He knew someone who would describe it as _awfully out indeed_ , if she were here. “I was in my room all night, and I know what you’re up to,” Klaus announced, dropping a heavy book on the dining table with a thud. It disturbed the dust and Olaf’s tea set, causing the man to roll his eyes in distaste.

“Me? I’m just having my morning coffee - “ Olaf pulled a face at the boy as he spoke. What an insufferable little know-it-all. Olaf restrained his cheeks from pulling into a wide grin, thinking how delightful it will be to watch the boys world tumble down around him, all over again. How he and the baby will be driven far far away, only little Violet left to drown her sorrows in his arms. Man and wife. 

Upstairs, Violet and Sunny had woken not long after Klaus. She had dressed, brushed her hair in the grimy mirror in their bathroom, leaning close to peer at herself in it. Could she go through with this? Mr Poe would arrive before long and take her only living family away. Sunny looked up at her from the tiled floor, gnawing on a rock from the pile Count Olaf had provided. Violet closed her eyes sadly. The baby had no idea what was about to happen. Sunny shot a tooth grin at her big sister, who without speaking crouched down to pick her up, clutching her tightly.

Violet perched on the edge of the bathtub, balancing Sunny on her legs. “We need to talk. Sister to sister.” Violet started, sniffing already. She hated herself for letting her emotions get the better of her, those _emotions_ made her weak had already caused yet more pain to her siblings. This was her time to be strong. “I won’t always be there for you. To see you grow up … but I want to know how you're getting on. Okay? I’ll tell Klaus he can write and, send pictures maybe. You’re clever, like Klaus. Like me but different.”

“Wassein?” Sunny garbled, a sound here which meant, ‘you're not making much sense, but if I were able, I would ask why Klaus needs to write to you when were all living together’.

“I know, and it won’t make sense. But please,” Violet urged, feeling something wet trail down her cheeks when she squeezed her eyes shut. She clutched Sunny close and breathed her in, remembering this moment, remembering everything about her sister that she could. How much she weighed in her arms, her chubby fingers gripping her cardigan, that milky baby smell. “Please remember me,” She whispered, her voice wet and heavy. Sunny tilted her head and peered up at her big sister, feeling the drip of tears on her nearly bald head. 

“Gallygoo…,” Sunny agreed, not really understanding. Violet wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her cardigan, trying to pull herself together for this last hour or so, mechanically tying Sunnys little tuft of hair into a ribbon, praying silently that wherever her siblings landed, their next Guardian would do her hair just like this. Just like Violet will remember her.

 

—————

 

Klaus had flipped the book open to the relevant pages, practically memorised from the number of times he had pored over the tiny lines of text, reading and re-reading it so the meaning was clear to him. “If my sister says ‘I do’ and signs the piece of paper while Justice Strauss is in the room she’s legally married. This play wont be pretend it will be real and legally binding.” Klaus explained, as if Olaf needed telling. This was his idea from the start. Encourage their participation, set the stage and steal their fortune in plain sight. He would almost have got away with it too, if Klaus were not so good at library science, something he thanked his parents for letting him pursue. It was not the most common of interests in boys his age but it was already proving itself the most worthwhile pursuit.

The tea cup clinked as Olaf dumped it on the tray, lounging back in the chair with its high back and ever-present eye carving on the top. “I wouldn't marry your sister if she were the last Orphan on earth. A man like _me_ -“ He gestured with an air of arrogance, “- can acquire a great many, _beautiful_ women, who don't complain about doing their chores.” Olaf ground his teeth. The nerdy brother might believe he could save the day, but Olaf wasn’t going to give him the chance. He glanced towards the bottom of the stairs, for the first time worrying where Violet was. If he was up, where was the girl? Why hadn’t she come to him in the night again, as he had vainly hoped for? Olaf rapped his fingernails on the table, exasperated and annoyed that the boy had seen so quickly through his scheme. Pests could be dealt with, however. He imagined Klaus as a squeaking cockroach with tiny glasses perched on its shiny shell cracking and smashing as Olaf brought his foot down on top of him. _Squash._

“A wife isn't just around to do your chores, thats not a marriage. And nor is this. Its a play. Its trickery you wont get away with it. The audience might not know what is going on but I do,” Klaus had continued but Olaf was done listening. He held Violets secrets, her lies, and would delight in holding her together, reforming her into something dark and strong. _His own creation._ This little, vexatious brother was not going to be his concern for much longer and thus paid little heed to the boys whinings.

Olaf pushed his chair back and stood, downing the remnants of coffee from the cup and discarding it again. “And what do you think you can do about it, book-worm?” He sneered.

Klaus looked frustrated. However long he thought on the matter, this was what had eluded him the most. “I’ll think of something,” He answered, putting on a brave front. He wouldn’t let his sister fall for Olaf’s scheme, he would protect her, and their inheritance. Klaus knew she was struggling with her grief, and that meant he didn't have her brilliant mind to collaborate with. But with some good research he knew the answer was out there.

A sound rang through the house. Klaus recognised it from the first day they had climbed the steps to Olaf’s front door, and Mr Poe had rung the doorbell. He turned around in his chair, looking towards the door.

Butterflies danced excitedly in Olaf’s stomach. “Aha, saved by the bell. Be a good boy and, see who it is?” Olaf smirked. He couldn't help it, the first of many moments of triumph was here, and the clueless boy was walking right into it.

Klaus rolled his eyes behind his glasses, getting up and walking dutifully to the front door, briefly assessing the extra security locks then opening it. His eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Mr Poe,” He said startled, turning his head to the side shooting a glance to Count Olaf. He hadn’t even had a chance to call the executor of their parents will yet, but by a stroke of luck he was already here. “Thank goodness you’re here, there’s something I need to talk to you about, its most urgent - “

“And _I_ need to get you urgently away from here and dropped off again, before I am expected at the bank,” Mr Poe interrupted, something Klaus knew to be rude but in this instance he didn’t care. Olaf stalked slowly towards the door, noticing Violet out of the corner of his eye. He smiled, a warmth ghosting through him that made him tingle in anticipation. She had been crying, he could see the dull pink around her eyes from rubbing them, but it didn't make her any less beautiful. He anticipated there would be many more tears to come before the day was over.

Klaus breathed thankfully. Now Mr Poe was here, everything could be sorted out. He could explain Count Olaf’s behaviour, the abuse, the bruise on his cheek and the scheme, all of it. But Mr Poe didn't appear to need convincing, in fact he was already here to collect them. It didn't make sense.

Klaus looked puzzled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “So, you already know?”

Mr Poe smiled cheerily. “Of course I know Klaus. I’m a banker, and bankers keep records. I received the phone call yesterday,” He paused, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and coughing violently. “I assume packing didn't take you too long seeing as you don’t really have many belongings.”

Olaf popped into the doorway seemingly from out of nowhere, giving Mr Poe a fright. “I’m sure wherever they are going the Orphans will be provided with, all that they need,” Olaf murmured dryly. He gripped the door, giving the banker a mock smile that could only last a few seconds before it fell away. “Unlike here. Its a terrible state,” He said in a mocking tone, reiterating what Violet had said on the phone the day before, peppering her lies with truth - the most convincing sort of lie. He had committed to take the fall for her, after all. Given her his word that he would protect the last shred of dignity she had and her siblings would be none the wiser to what she had done.

 

“Yes, it does seem like theres quite a lot of repairs to do.” Mr Poe agreed, casting his eyes up the outside of the house, broken windows and dry cracked paint were the sum of all he could see. There was no beauty to the place at all, and if he had been honest at the time, he had had his doubts. But who was he to judge the will of another? Certainly not when it came to a parents wishes for their children. “Where’s Sunny? We really must be going,” Mr Poe pressed, checking his watch. 

“She’s here,” Violet responded from the top of the stairs. She padded slowly down the steps, descending to the gaggle of people in the doorway, already shaking a little.

So she hadn’t dreamt it. The reality of yesterdays phone call hit her full force, winding her in the gut. She rearranged Sunny off her hip and held her out for Klaus to take, unable to hold her any longer. Her hand rushed to her mouth, feeling sick. Violet wrapped her arms around herself again tightly, self-consciously inching closer to Olaf. She could feel the guilt rising in her gut like bile.

Her brother welcomed Sunny into his arms with ease, hefting her onto one hip, trying to quickly explain and hurry out the door all at once. “Violet, Mr Poe is here to take us to a new Guardian. Everything's alright,” Klaus smiled happily. So much for being awake all night worrying, fate was handing them their first stroke of luck since their parents had died. 

“Yes, I know,” Violet agreed, her words choking in her throat. He was misunderstanding the whole thing. She felt Olaf’s hand on her shoulder, and she glanced up at him. He squeezed his fingers gently on her skin and gave her a stern look. _You did this. But you had to._ She nodded mutely in agreement, looking sadly back at her brothers ecstatic face.

“Isn’t that great?” Klaus prompted, why wasn’t his sister celebrating?

Mr Poe extended his arm gesturing for Klaus and Sunny to come out onto the porch. “The Orphanage doesn’t usually take babies but seeing as Count Olaf insisted you stay together, I was able to convince them,” Mr Poe chatted in an overly friendly but slightly rushed manner. His mind was on other things and this repeat of the Baudelaire case was one he was keen to hide from his boss at Orphan Affairs. Olaf took the brief opportunity to step closer behind her, leaning down and smelling that meadow like scent in her hair before he kissed her gently atop her head. She was his. It was truly happening. 

Violets eyes widened. “Orphanage?” She managed to say, though the fear was already rising in her voice. What had she done? She tried to take a step, hurry after them and get clarification from Mr Poe, but Olaf held her in place. What sort of awful place was she condemning them to?

“Stay,” Olaf muttered into her ear, feeling her tug away a little. “Don’t make it harder for them.” She whined silently, feebly wriggling trying to pry herself away; she wanted to run to her siblings and hug them, tell them she loved them. _Forgive me,_ her mind begged.

In truth she didn't want him to let go. Her body relented and stilled, and she felt grip loosen. Olaf smiled faintly to himself.

Mr Poe replaced his hat on his head with a tap. “Orphanage means, a house for Orphans, with nowhere to go,” Mr Poe explained, ushering Klaus and Sunny down the steps.

“We know what Orphanage means-“

Mr Poe didn't hear him, but kept talking. “Your next Guardian Dr Montgomery Montgomery is away on a research trip in Peru, and I understand he has been away for some time. But once he returns, he will come and collect you two.”

Klaus stopped dead on the path. “Don’t you mean three?”

“Three what?” Mr Poe looked confused.

“You said, Dr Montgomery will collect _you two_. Theres three of us,” Klaus elucidated, turning and seeing for the first time that Violet hadn’t followed along with him. He stared at her in the doorway to the dilapidated mansion, Olaf’s hand on her shoulder, a pained, frightened expression to her. _No._ Klaus’s heart sank.

“I can only see two of you that are getting in the car,” Mr Poe seemed oblivious to the children’s emotional state, separating them without a thought. He left Klaus on the path for a moment to unlock his automobile and open the back door for the children.

“Myself, Sunny and Violet. Thats three,” Klaus insisted, unmoving.

“Violet is staying here,” Count Olaf declared with a gleeful expression that gloated success. 

Klaus tore his eyes away. Anger broiled inside him - how had he done this? Olaf knew he had been onto him, and so what, called Mr Poe to take them away? Violet was grieving, yes, she was lost and had made a mistake sleeping with him, but she was just standing there. He had never known his sister give up, simply accept something that was happening. She had a brilliant smart mind that had been switched off, no ideas were ticking over in her mind, she looked empty. Far away, almost.

How could Mr Poe accept leaving Violet in Olaf’s care so readily? Klaus turned, the truth dawning on him. Mr Poe had already believed Olaf’s lies and merrily dropped them off in that ruin of a house the first time, content to close the Baudelaire file and get his work done with little care to their actual welfare. Klaus remembered how they had hoped first impressions weren't always true. How his tattoo they saw wasn't always the sign of a wicked person. They had believed Olaf just as readily, because they wanted to believe that everything would be alright, naively hoping for the best.

“You did this! You knew I was on to you - “ He shouted back as Mr Poe pushed him towards the car. “Mr Poe I need to tell you what Count Olaf is doing. He’s forcing Violet to perform in the play tonight to steal our parents fortune. He’s horrible, he’s not a suitable Guardian!” Klaus babbled as he was wedged into the seat by Mr Poe’s briefcase, feeling as though he was being swept up by a tide and unable to find purchase to stay on land.

“Go… please just go - “ Violet cried suddenly, tears welling in her eyes. The more she watched her brother fighting this the more it hurt. Olaf was right, she had to do this, it was the bravest and hardest thing but it was for their own good. There was no way she could stay with them after what she had done, she would only fear for their safety more. Better they grow up with a family who loves them and a Guardian who gives them everything they need. Love, attention and books and bite-able objects and celebrates the childhood they remember, the parents they lost too early.

“It is wonderful to see Violet taking part in the theatrical enterprises of her Guardian. My wife and I have tickets,” Mr Poe smiled, throwing the car door shut and forcing Klaus to jerk his legs in before they go caught. 

“You’re not listening to me!” Klaus complained, setting Sunny on the car seat next to him only to have his arms free. He yanked the door handle but the door didn't budge for the child-lock. He stared out the window in panic, Mr Poe was about to start driving and Violet was still there with Olaf, he couldn't let this happen. Sunny started to bawl and cry, wailing a sound so painful Violet had to cover her ears and turn her back to them to shield herself from both sight and sound.

“And you’re not getting out of this car. Really Klaus, you really are not behaving very well this morning young man,” Mr Poe stated uncomfortably, opening the driver door and manoeuvring his briefcase across to the passenger seat as he sat down.

As Mr Poe slotted his keys into the ignition, Klaus quickly buckled Sunny in next to him and wound down the window hastily, his only idea remaining as he felt the car engine humming under the hood. “Violet!” He yelled out of the window trying to get her attention, clutching the frame with both hands leaning out as far as he could safely do so. “Left hand! Sign with your left hand!”

Violet emerged slowly, turning and brushing her hair from her face peering out towards the car. What had he said? Olaf was rubbing her arms gently as she looked up at him, waiting for him to explain, repeat what Klaus had said. Olaf said nothing. “Did he - ?” Violet started, her hair lifting as she spun back around. “Klaus!” She shouted. Mr Poe depressed his foot on the accelerator and the car pulled off.

“Violet - “ Olaf warned, but she had already pushed back and was out of his grasp.

She tore away from Olaf at the last minute, hopping down the steps one by one her arms out at the side as she tried to keep her balance taking them so quickly, and ran out into the street. “Klaus!” She screamed, her heart splitting in two. Mr Poe’s car was already down the street, taking her siblings away. “I’m sorry!” She screamed again, tears pouring down her cheeks in hot stinging trails. His face appeared in the back window hearing her voice. “I’m sorry!” Violet shouted again, hoping he could hear her, that he could forgive her.

Violet narrowed her eyes as she peered, trying to see what he was doing. His finger jabbed the window, pointing. Was he signing something to her? “I don't - …” She mumbled, shaking her head. She couldn't make out what he was trying to say.

Just then, a car horn honked angrily behind her, and she barely turned her head in time to see the silver grill of a tall van, headlights either side of her. She gasped, stiffening against the inevitable impact.

She felt blown aside, hands gripping her waist as she stumbled and fell losing her footing but feeling something - _someone_ holding her, pulling her aside. Daring to open her eyes slowly, she found herself lying on top of Olaf in the road, the man on his back and cradling her protectively to his chest, the tail lights of the van passing them by. She was rolled onto her back as he pushed off, leaning over her, his breathing ragged with adrenaline. "Jeez if you want me on top of you again there are easier ways…," He panted, visually checking her over. "You scared me."

Violet was comforted by Olaf's visage above her. He'd saved her? She forced herself to sit up, propping herself on her arms as she stared down the road. Mr Poe's car was nowhere to seen. "They've gone," She murmured. 

"What?" Olaf puffed, looking where she was looking, then realised her meaning. "Oh, yeah." 

"I wanted to tell him I'm sorry," Violet whispered. She'd been too late, now she would never get the chance. The finality of her decision was laid bare before her, empty as the road she stared down. Olaf couldn't take his eyes off her, the distant look in her eyes, the way they wandered from where her siblings had gone - her past; to him, her future, how they softened and her shoulders fell back and she reached for his jacket, clutching him like a lost thing knowing not what to do. He warmed at her touch. "Can we go inside?" 

Olaf nodded, foregoing the thousand come-backs he could have said, instead scooping her into his arms as he stood. One hand was around her back the other under her legs, as though a bride crossing a threshold.

Practice for later, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me 4 chapters down the road. The next chapter SHOULD be the final chapter. I just can't rein myself in. Stick with me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olaf finally pushes Violet over the edge, setting the stage for a successful Marvellous Marriage…

 

Olaf kicked the door shut behind him and deposited her back on her feet in the centre of the hallway. She curled into herself, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks like snails trails, almost silvery when they caught the light. What had she done? The bleak soundless house seemed so vast and unwelcome all of a sudden, without anyone there but them. _You were selfish. You didn't want to face yourself in their eyes_. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to block out the sound of her guilt, manifesting itself into a voice in her mind again. Violet prayed that making amends for her crimes would silence it, force the voice to leave her alone, because she’d done the best by her siblings in the end. “Stop,” She whispered to herself, seeing only rear of the car driving away, the image of her siblings being taken from her repeating itself over and over. She realised she would be seeing this image in her mind for a long time. When she slept, when she was distracted and daydreamed for a moment, there it would be. Klaus banging on the rear window at her, scared and confused. She felt something, and her consciousness jerked back awake. Rubbing the sleeve of her cardigan over her eyes she peered up through bleary tears, it was Olaf’s soft grey eyes that held her own.

Olaf rubbed her arms, treating her with more care than he ever had. She was broken, a shattered vase that lay at his feet requiring careful and meticulous reconstruction. Yet even like this, the light was drawn to her; her pale freckled skin unmarred by her sorrow she was yet perfect in Olaf’s eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” He murmured, taking his hands from her running one up and through his wiry grey hair. He blew out a long breath, curious disbelief at his own achievement.

Violet only half heard him, lost in the stormy seas of his eyes. It was easier to than being too aware of the reality that had happened. “What?” She replied softly.

“I said they’re gone,” He pretended to repeat, bringing his arm around her shoulder and walking her through the house finding somewhere to sit, her movements obedient and almost robotic. “Its for the best, they cant be around you.” Olaf reminded her, nodding when she looked up at him needing his guidance. 

He knew what it was like to hurt, to hurt others in turn. He could help - he already had, he could show her the way again. “I wish I could have explained,” She said regretfully, her shoulders slumping a little as he sat her down in the library, turning himself to her.

While she was staring dazed at her lap, he shut his eyes momentarily to take a deep breath, readying himself for the final performance. This would be the last one needed to secure her, he had to get it right. He had to break that final thread of hope in her mind, remembering who she was.

For after he was done with her she would not be the daughter of a famous Volunteer family. Not anymore.

His features narrowed darkly. “Why? They would disown you. Nobody wants a murderer for a sister,” Olaf spat suddenly. “They’d call the detective and you would be locked up.”

Fear crept up her back, making the tiny hairs stand on end. Wasn’t telling the truth the right thing to do? Its what she should have done, perhaps there was a way to make amends for that too. Had Olaf said that? No, she shook her head, disorientated. _You want it to be him you want him to punish you._ “But -“ 

“Jail is not a happy place for a pretty girl like you,” He interrupted, cutting her off and turning her thoughts to imaginary demons and groping hands that could bend and break her in other ways. It was like scaring a child with the boogeyman, simply aged up into an imaginary criminal the way sex-ed teachers or concerned parents did. Maybe a guard who liked pretty girls on their knees, being forced into submission in ways her mind conjured more graphically than he could ever describe. She gasped in fear at the thought. “Trust me, Orphan. Wicked people like you, _like me,_ all we have is each other.” He pulled her back to him, her frightened eyes finding his and her hands were on his leg already. Clinging, craving security. _Come to me._ He silently urged her.

“I’m not a wicked person!” Violet protested, she didn't deserve that, she didn't deserve what would happen to her if she gave herself in. She had to stay here, she had to trust Olaf - he had guided her right so far and taken her pain away that night when she was so lost she would have thrown herself out the attic room window if were not for her siblings. She loved them more than anything. Her fingers scratched the cotton of his dull brown trousers.

“You really believe that? After everything you’ve done?” Olaf baited her.

All she heard was that voice, the villainous one in the back of her mind that taunted her over and over and never let her go free. 

She shook her head frantically, begging Olaf for help. “Please - I didn't mean for those things to happen!”

Instead of letting her find comfort in him just yet, he forced himself to take her hand away, gripping his fingers around her wrist so she should feel trapped by her own actions. “You murdered your parents because you were _lazy_ , and _selfish_ and wanted to do your stupid little inventions instead of being a good daughter and listening to your mother; - you lied to the authorities when they asked you what had happened, they were investigating the fire and you knew, _you knew_ how it started and you said _nothing;”_ He said with a vicious contempt, pushing her backwards purposely adding to her sense of imbalance, her other hand flailing a little as she was about to fall off the sofa.  

“Its not true -“ She could barely get her words in between the verbal assault. _Murderer._

“You were hurting from the weight of all your guilt so you found your way into my bed and opened your legs like a whore hoping I could take it all away,” He sneered, though it was strange; it nearly pained him to tilt her actions which he had so enjoyed into something pathetic and futile working only for her own gain. When he had planted it in her to begin with, and would do so again. 

“Thats not what happened! He told me it would help!” She cried, her hands scrabbling to grip onto him as though he held her over the edge of a cliff, not just the sofa - for the fall she was experiencing was not a physical one, but internal. The giddy disorientating sensation was entirely in her own mind. 

Olaf noted the pronoun  - _he told me it would help,_ not you, it wasn’t him talking anymore, he realised, but her own guilt. He was becoming that voice that tormented her and she couldn’t associate the two together. “And then you wanted to save yourself from your brothers clever questions so lied to the banker sending them away and condemning them to some God-forsaken orphanage -“ He pressed harder. 

“No! Stop!” Her voice broke in scratchy screams. “Make it stop _please_!” She begged through her screams, her arms covering her head and letting go, expecting to fall. Fall to her knees, the depth of despair becoming a long dark well with thick stone walls all around and no way out. Instead he grabbed her waist and heaved her back from it, using his weight to throw himself against the back of the sofa and bringing her with him. She was limp in his arms, knees curled up in a pitiful desperate ball, scrunching herself as small as she could, rocking back and for as she sobbed, her reality gone, warped and changed into a forest of gnarled thorny branches grabbing for her limbs, stabbing her with the spikes and threatening her all around.

Olaf shut his eyes and catching his breath as his monologue completed. He held his arms around her, cradling the girl he had destroyed feeling her shake and tremble as she came undone. “Ssshhh…,” He murmured softly, pressing his cheek atop her head and ghosting kisses over her hair,needing himself to relax too - for it had truly been a method performance requiring his every ounce of concentration, his every breath. It had all been for her. “You’re safe, my dear. I’ve got you.”

She couldn't look this way or that for it was too frightening, so she pressed herself into his chest, panting hard against the fabric of his dressing gown. Violet could feel his heartbeat through the material, shifting herself more comfortably to remain in his arms as the darkness started to recede. He consumed her senses, and she danced in it. The oaky wooden smell where his robe had hung from the door, the spilt drops of wine and whisky stained into it, the peculiar layer of must that covered everything in his house, even his clothes. She could feel his stubbly beard scratch a little as he leant his cheek on her. The wet warmth of his lips as they touched and kissed her forehead. She unfurled herself, like a snowdrop that had hidden from the frost waking up to the light of spring, and the gentle morning that broke through the dark grey clouds. Something guided her, that figure in the fog on Briney Beach. She had seen it before like a half-forgotten memory, a hand held out to her, an invitation like last time. Looking side to side she was alone on the beach, and as the figure slowly emerged from the fog she could see who it was.

Violet sat up with the awkward co-ordination of a newborn deer, frightened and unsure but as she opened her eyes Olaf was already smiling at her. He rubbed his thumb along her cheek, brushing away the last of the tears. “I’m here,” He assured her, and she nodded in response.

“I know.” She said, calm as she put her smaller hand in his, taking the unspoken invitation. She stared off to the side for a moment, watching the fog all around them slowly drawing away. As though with the long grey tendrils receding he was there, from her memory, from her subconscious - like clouds that hugged the ground the fog had made it difficult to see where she was, where she was going. But with her hand taking his she wasn’t alone and he was guiding her safely through the webs of grey and black. “Can I fetch something?” Violet asked lightly, her pink red eyes looking sore from crying, but the tears were drying and no more came.

He peered at her, inquisitive. “What?” Olaf knew he had succeeded, but was unsure what form the girl would take from now. How soon should he begin training her? Would she start the fires if he told her to? Would she accept his words now as scripture? There was so much to think about, not least the Marvellous Marriage that was going to debut in a few short hours. He should report to The Beard and The Hair what he’d done, turn her over, perhaps. He clutched her a little tighter.

Violet interrupted his thoughts as she climbed off his lap, checking behind her as she hurried off out the room, breaking into a little jog. He heard her steps tapping up the stairs and he lifted his head listening, wondering what she was doing. Olaf took the quick break to flop back on the sofa and run his hands through his wild spikes of hair, letting out a long sighing breath. Fuck. He hadn’t thought after one unsatisfying fuck he would bear any feelings for her. But it had been hard to berate her so forcefully, insult her and drive her self hatred to such a height she broke before him.

_But it was worth it._

His fingers tapped on his thighs with a growing smirk as he waited. Poor little thing. She really had no hope to get out of this now. The brother was gone. He was ready to teach her everything. She would lap up his words and nod and smile prettily believing herself so lost and condemned that treachery and wickedness was all that was left for her. 

Violet reappeared in the doorway with a shy expression; she had shed the blue cardigan somewhere along the way and tied her hair up in its ribbon. His long eyebrow frowned slightly. “Violet …?” He taunted gently.

She tucked her skirt under as she perched herself on the sofa next to him, holding out the tin hip flask he had given her the night before, showing what she had gone for. Its VFD symbol in inlaid mango wood, exotic and beautifully made. Violet unscrewed the cap and let it hang from the neck, sniffing its contents. “Alcohol helps, thats what you said?” She reminded him.

Olaf nodded, his hand shifting from his thigh to hers. A meaningful movement that was more than just gentle assurance, but spoke of a together-ness they bared now. She accepted the touch without comment. “You didn't drink it last night?” He asked curiously.

Violet shook her head. “I was, too scared.”

“But you’re not scared now?”

She shook her head again.

Olaf smiled proudly. “Good girl.” He nodded to her to try it, as his other arm shifted around her shoulders until she was sitting neatly in the crook of his arm. Violet subconsciously shimmied into the embrace, getting comfy before putting the flask to her lips for the first time. She paused, glancingup. “Go on,” He encouraged, “You’ll like it.”

Violet nodded to herself, taking a deep breath and putting her lips around the flask, tipping her head back to pour some of the liquid into her mouth.

———————

Olaf paraded through the under-tunnels of the theatre being followed by reporters and fans - whom the Hook-Handed Man insisted he hadn’t paid to act _adoring;_ but he barely heard the reporters questions, answering quickly and curtly until reaching his dressing room, other things on his mind. He would usually revel in this sort of attention, but tonights performance was not just a performance for the paying audience, but to the girl he was marrying. He fiddled the handle but it didn't open, and his grand theatrical front complete with cape was looking a little shaky the more he growled at the door. He banged his fist on it, looking around at the gaggle of people faking a smile then gritting his teeth menacingly at the door once again. “If someone doesn’t open this door right now - !” He began, only to have it fly open making him stumble forward into the sudden open doorway. “What is happening - didn't I establish I wanted a grand flowing entrance right to my door, only to find it locked when I arrive?” He demanded of the White faced-Women who grinned at him like a peculiar pair of cheshire cats.

“We wanted you to be surprised,” One chirruped. 

“Thats right. Its bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” The other replied. 

“What are you - “ Olaf began, halting when he saw behind them, understanding what they meant. Violet sat in front of the dressing room mirror, the light bulbs all around the mirror lit up and making her reflection even paler from the bright lights. She saw him in the mirror and turned, fingers clutching the arms of the chair in expectation. The flower garland resting on her head, the stems tucked through her hair, shades of pink and mink and white. Part of her was afraid, what would he think? He designed the dress, he wanted her in it - did she live up to his imagination? But the other half couldn't look at him, dropping her gaze at the last moment feeling a heat in her belly that answered his burning eyes.

The White faced women were keen to earn his praise. “What do you think? I did the make up. Not too much.”

“But just enough. And I helped with the hair,” The other agreed.

“She looks perfect. You look perfect,” He repeated, the second quieter - directed only at her. Only then Violet realised how hard she had been digging her nails into the back of the chair, the tension in her knuckles and joints turning them as white as her dress - when she relaxed them and felt the blood and colour rush back to her tingling fingertips, feeling his approval calm her. He pushed the door just enough to stalk in, the White-Faced Women scooting to the sides like the seas parting for their prophet, his hand coming to rest on the curveof Violets neck, where her neck joined her shoulders. _Such a pretty neck_ , he mused, rubbing his thumb in the curve gently. He sighed happily, could it really be that victory, success was right within his grasp? Look at the way she gazed up at him. Willing and waiting for a kind word or a gentle guiding touch. He hummed, pleasantly pleased with himself. “I trust you have rehearsed your line?”

“I have.” She confirmed, as he twisted a lock of her long hair around his finger.

“I _do,_ ” He corrected with an impish grin.

She chuckled. “I know.”

As he unwound her hair from his finger, he simply stroked his touch gently across her cheek. “Good.” He turned back around and headed for the stage, not looking back at her again. There was no need. Everything was in order. Violet would play her part, and in doing so, place herself into his hands, and her fortune into his pockets. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Violet Baudelaire.”

But even more delightfully - she would condemn the Baudelaire name to _ashes_ ; that orangey glow of goodness at her centre slowly extinguishing, encapsulated by the charcoal grey surrounding it, _him,_ and his arms around her, his words filling her mind, his actions building hers until that glow finally collapses, a wisp of smoke rising from where a _noble_ fire once burned, now no longer.

Olaf shed his coat, adjusted his wig and began his verbal warm up with a smile. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I had to split it, I couldn't have a 7,500 word chapter! But its finished, and I'm kind of pleased with how it wrapped up, hope you enjoy the finally instalment(s) Chapter 6+7.

If Klaus was here he would have said something, Violets mind told her tearfully, but such logic and reason were far away from where she was standing. She glanced to her left where the Hook Handed Man waited with a brimming smile. He balanced a silk pillow on his hooks, as if cradling their rings was the single most important thing he had ever had to do. She was distracted by the little bands of gold, by the never-ending circles and the way they lay half atop each other, as if intertwined. The way her and Olaf’s lives were going to be - _already were_ intertwined. He knew her secrets and kept them safe. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember how it felt when they were in bed, when he was inside her and how all her guilt and self-hatred dissipated for that short time. She wondered if they would do it again, it was their wedding night? Somewhere inside her she laughed, it was just a play. But, using that excuse she _could,_ couldn't she? He’d promised it would help and it did, and she’d felt so _naughty._ She remembered being able to concentrate on something - even if it was a stinging sort of pain, she could at least concentrate, she could find relief from the voices inside her head. _You’re safe my dear, I’ve got you_ he had murmured, holding her on the sofa. She balled her trembling fists and took a deep breath, opening her eyes again as Justice Strauss spoke.

Perhaps Klaus really had found something in that book. Klaus should have been standing there with her, but for the first time she was _glad_ he wasn’t there. He wouldn't understand. He banged on the window at the back of Mr Poes car and her hand snapped out to the side grabbing Olaf’s sleeve, steadying herself, blinking the image away.

Count Olaf was fidgeting with excitement, the corner of his mouth curled into a thin smile as his eyes turned to his bride, patting the top of her hand soothingly. _Not long_ , he seemed to reassure her. 

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Justice Strauss voice sang in a series of nervous notes.

Olaf snatched the paper and long feather quill, signing his name triumphantly. “I do.” Passing the paper back, his eyes darted to her, how she clung to him. She felt sick. Oh how proud his mentors were going to be, how _successful_ he was becoming and with a Baudelaire Orphan of his very own to train and teach and _play with_. He could not have constructed a better plan, or produced the rather beneficial twist of her determination to blame herself for the fire. 

Violet didn’t let go of his silvery blue jacket, she knew it was a costume but it suited him, and the material warmed in her hand, inviting her to stay. Her hair tumbled in waves around her face, not her usual look but then nothing about this really felt like her anymore.

“And do you,” Justice Strauss carried on with a shaky voice. “-take this woman -

“Man,” He corrected blandly.

Violet peered at the woman with uncertainty, taking the marriage licence and quill. “Man! Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedding husband?”

Count Olaf nodded at her. _I know you’ll do the right thing_. She looked sideways again to where Klaus should have been, and wasn’t. Good. It was better this way. He didn't want to perform in Olaf’s play in the first place, he wanted there to be a conspiracy, some scheme Olaf had constructed between the lines of script to snare her into his arms. Whether it wast rue or not, Violet did not like the thought of doubting her brothers intentions, he was a good person and loved her - _does he though?_ Her mind taunted. _Does he love after he caught you, naked with your Guardian?_ I wasn’t naked! She protested. _He cant love you after that._

Her throat was dry. Klaus didn't understand. He didn't know and would never know the truth, she _had_ to keep away from him, from Sunny. The thought of her baby sister made her words choke in her throat. But her only answer was clear.“I do.” Violet signed her name.

——————

The rest of Al Funcoots headlining play passed in a blur for Violet. She sat side of stage playing with the netting of her wedding dress in her fingers, remembering the applause of the audience and how chuffed Olaf had seemed. His face changed when he smiled, she had noticed, his eyes almost shone and he had squeezed her hand tightly, _proudly,_ the brilliant white lights bathing him in adoration. She felt special standing there next to him, the whole audience clapping but it was her - her who got to hold his hand be part of it with him, to smell the cologne and sweat rubbing together under the heat of the stage lights, to feel that glow when he turned his gaze down to her. He accepted her, despite everything she had done everything she had told him; he had lied for her, lied to Mr Poe and protected her siblings memories of her. She squeezed his hand back.

“Time to go!” A cheery voice broke her thoughts and the Hook Handed Man waved her up to her feet. “You get to ride up front with the boss, Count and Countess together!” He smiled, hefting a crate of wine under one arm. 

She huffed, “I’m not a Countess.” But she glad of his positive demeanour. The success of the play had put everyone in a good mood, and for once Violet managed to forget what she had done to her siblings for a few moments. They bundled into the car, Olaf consigning the entire troupe to the back seat. She plugged herself in the seatbelt feeling a little guilty for taking so much space, even though a lot of it was just puffy folds of dress. She couldn't take it off, her only other dress was somewhere stuffed in the trunk of the car, and she didn't fancy riding in her underwear. She turned in her seat and saw how uncomfortable they all looked, half on-top of each other and wedged into a seat that was meant for 3 people. “Maybe - “ She started, worrying her bottom lip in her teeth, she felt the dry skin of Olaf’s palm on her thigh. She gasped, the touch jolting her and pulling her attention to him.

Olaf stroked his fingers on her bare skin, quietening her worry before it built. He could see how even _this_ started to worry her, scratching and cracking her mind building like a storm needing only the smallest of catalysts. She felt so guilty, immeasurably so for something so insignificant. But the guilt put her right back to that moment running down the steps of the house after Mr Poes car, seeing her siblings drive away after _she had called the Banker, she had sent them away to a terrible Orphanage when it was she that should be sent away to jail!_ Olaf sighed, he might have given the performance of his life in shattering her, but he had a way to go before she would be what he needed. Strong, resilient and _deadly_. “Violet, you’re allowed to be selfish, you’re my Countess. Don’t worry about _them_ ,” Olaf instructed her. “You performed wonderfully, lets get you home.”

She curled her fingers over the top of his and squeezed his hand again, taking a deep breath. 

——————

Olaf’s knee bounced on the piano pedal as he filled the room with overjoyed sound, his fingers skirting up and down the ivory keys playing something jovial that Violet didn't know. The troupe all did and were thoroughly enjoying singing along to it, Olaf too. She wasn’t used to such noise and camaraderie, evenings spent in with her family - _the ones you killed_ , she was quickly reminded, were usually spent quietly, digesting some intellectual tome by Klaus or in philosophical debate with her father while she oiled a clockwork toy she was making. They were quick and easy to put together; she enjoyed watching the mechanical workings click over to make the legs of the mouse move, or the drummers arms. They were silly and childish things, but had kept her hands busy during discussions so both her mind and hands were both equally entertained.

This was different, alien. She had not expected such an atmosphere, and the bright colours it seemed to create clashed with the shades of grey in her head. She frowned and rubbed her forehead, tucking her legs up under the table to sit cross-legged, the chair wasn’t very comfortable but she didn't feel like joining in either, beyond drinking the glass of red wine that she had in front of her. The more she drank of it, the more someone filled it up again, and on the cycle went.

What was there to celebrate anyway? The play had been successful, yes - and she was glad it made Olaf so happy. Living here alone with him would be more bearable if he was cheerful, an emotion she hadn’t seen from him before. Until she had poured out her soul to him a few nights ago, he had been nothing but gruff and distant and neglectful of her, and her siblings. _You don't need to worry about them anymore. They're long gone, thanks to you._

But still, it was just a play. 

Something woke her from her thoughts, and she glanced up, following the fingers that brushed under her chin to the arm and person they belonged to. “Don’t look so glum.”

She made a small smile, Olaf dragging up a chair in front of her and putting his hand on her her knee. The sensation made her want to press her thighs together a little, but she was sitting cross legged with her dress tented across her knees and thighs and _moving now just after he did that would be conspicuous._ She felt her heart beat as she shyly dropped her eyes and curled into herself a little. He took a breath, stilling his own thoughts seeing her so pliant and affected in front of him. He could pick her up onto his lap right now and she would likely smile and cling to him like a security blanket. A week ago he would never have dreamed of freely touching her leg, kissing her hair, or any of the other intimacies he had already enjoyed. But, _this_ was not a buffet nor a feast but a delicate and expensive gourmet that he must take his time with, savour each morsel and not gorge himself in one sitting. He sat back straight, letting his hand slide away, instead folding his hands in his lap, analysing her curiously.

“I’m not, I’m just thinking,” Violet replied.

Olaf rolled his eyes. Here he thought he could swagger over and flirt a little, as the alcohol allowed, force her to join in with them. But no, still _thinking._ “Pff, about what?” He said with a tinge of ridicule he couldn't hold back. 

She didn't want to read too much into it, but he hadn’t liked her answer. He’d taken his hand away and it felt something akin to rejection. Without him she was adrift in a sea of faces she didn't know or had barely met, acted with yes but she didn't _know_ them. They weren't her family, her siblings, or anyone who knew her. _You don’t know yourself, you're not Violet Baudelaire anymore_. “Its a little loud in here. I’m going to take a walk.” She untucked her legs and smoothing her dress down stood quickly pushing the chair back and away.

His hand snapped to her wrist. “Not out the house you’re not,” Olaf said sternly. Wait, why was he worried? Was he actually _concerned_ for her, or for himself? Olaf grumbled quietly, letting her wrist go again. He was perturbed at these … _feelings_ he was starting to feel.

“Yeah no wandering off Countess,” The Bald Man wagged his finger with a firm nod. She shifted her weight on the spot, feeling uncomfortable; she hadn’t gotten over the way he talked to her at dinner when they had made Pasta Puttanesca. _You're a pretty one,_ he had said. She squeezed her eyes shut and tipped the wine glass towards her mouth. _Klaus._ Thinking of Pasta Puttanesca made her think of them making it together, fixing the pasta machine, of being _together._ She gulped down a few mouthfuls of wine and coughed, stumbling back against Olaf’s chest. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder, a squeeze of concern in his fingers.

“I’m not a Countess. That was just in the play,” Violet corrected him anyway, her arm swaying holding the wine glass. The Hook Handed Man leant across the table to fill her glass again with a helpful grin, but she was starting to think his kindness wasn’t all that. She sighed at the red liquid filled once again right to the brim, starting to feel sick at the thought of drinking anymore. Feeling better by doing something she actively shouldn’t, surely had its limits too? She rubbed her forehead and turned against Olaf, resting her head on him.

Olaf warmed at how she came to him, but his body was tense, rigid at the conversation. “Well technically you _are_ a Countess. You signed your name, right? Marriage licence and all that?” The Hook Handed Man laughed.

“Uh - no. What Hooky means to say -“ They couldn’t really be so stupid, could they? Of course they could. He was surrounded by idiots! Olaf groaned to himself as they continued, secrets loosened by the long nights consumption of alcohol.

“I’m not really married!” Violet snapped back, her arm almost around Olaf’s back now, holding onto him.

“- is that you performed so well it looked _all completely real._ ”

“That licence was just a stage prop,” She shook her head. _Its not true. I’m not that stupid._ She's a smart girl, she's always been a smart girl, she could hear her fathers voice echoing proudly at the teacher-parent conference. Except her parents didn't know her, didn't know what she was capable of doing, the ignorance, the selfishness, the wickedness. _They wouldn’t like you if they saw you now. Look how you cling to him!_ But he understands! She protested. _Then maybe you knew all along. Your brother was trying to tell you and you wouldn't listen. You knew._ Violet dug her fingers into his waistcoat stifling a noise. Olaf wanted to pick her up like a child in his arms protectively.

The Hook Handed Man laugh turned nervous, seeing his boss’s displeased face. “Oh, yeah right.” He corrected himself.

“Time to go.” He said quickly, settling for walking her from the room with his arm around her growling and glaring at them all. She felt tears well up in her eyes. They were lying. It was a game, a stupid game to tease her and humiliate her if she believed it. He waved them all away, into silence, he didn't know what. But they had to _shut up_. 

“But that Justice was a real judge,” One of the White-Faced Women pointed out.

“And the paper was a real contract,” Chirruped the other.

“And you’re a real Countess!” The first exclaimed. Olaf looked back and for between them in horror as the truth revealed itself all too quickly. This was _not_ how he wanted her to find out. She wiggled out of his arm and pulled away, stumbling to the side from all the wine she still clutched in her hand.

“Not that we’re jealous at all,” The second White-faced-Woman said. “But we would have made far better brides for Count Olaf.”

“He’s so handsome.” They finished in unison. 

Violet looked to Olaf, begging it not to be true. He flapped his arms at his sides, mouth opening, and closing again as he chewed the air in frustration. Damn people. She looked at the Women's grinning faces again, they had said all that on purpose, they’d wanted to hurt her. But it didn't make it false. “Olaf…?”

He smoothed his long eyebrow with his finger and thumb, taking a deep breath. He had to make this right, he couldn't lose her at the last second, not when his victory had already been secured! He had the Baudelaire fortune! He should be satisfied but with Violet in his arms too … the possibilities for future success, and praise from his mentors! Validation for his choice of acting career… all of it hinged on her co-operation. _Devotion_. “Violet, it was for your own good,” He began gently, taking her hands in his, drawing her in again. “I did it for you - “ 

She fought against him shaking her head. She didn’t believe him, did she? She had believed him about everything, and he had been telling the truth, he had helped her, he had saved her, fucked her, oh god she had _let him_ , she had _enjoyed_ it and wanted it again. She was a terrible person, _he's_ a terrible person! He had tricked her into marrying him for real and saying it was for _her_? Wait - was it? … Did he mean it? She clawed her fingers into her skull, shaking her head. It was too much, too many words too many questions too many lies and truths and realities crashing together violently like un-oiled gears sparking as they rubbed together, creaking and threatening to spring and snap apart. She bolted out of the dining room, forgetting the wine glass barely hearing it splintering as it hit the hard wooden floor. “I need to explain to you _Orphan - “_ Olaf’s veneer started to crack.

“I’m taking a walk!” Violet yelled, passing the bottom of the stairs only then careering to a halt, looking at them, up them, _the attic room,_ she breathed. She double backed and hurried up the stairs, her flat sneakers slapping the wood with each step she made.

“All of you are fired!!” Olaf roared with frenzied arms, cricking his neck this way and that. “And wheres the trunk wine?!”

His troupe looked back and for among one another, pointing toward the pile of boxes in the corner of the room, mostly empty, and the box of red in the centre of the dining table.

Olaf grumbled, heading for something stronger from the armoire. At least in the house she was safe. She wasn’t running _away_ , he reasoned. Only from the truth. Not from _him_. Olaf tried to believe his own lies, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of whisky and filling up his hip flask.

He paused, staring at the engraving and rubbing his thumb over it as she had, taking her first taste from it. Like a poisoned chalice tempting her, his soft words encouraging her. Had had to fix this. He had to go to her. But what to say?

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Violet wept, and walked, and waited for something near clarity to hit her out of the shadows of Olaf’s dreary house. She had consigned herself to live here, with him, for the rest of her life. The finality of such a disaster was an easy pit to stare down, a long dark hole like the one that had first led her into his bedroom that night. His intentions may have been right, she needed looking after, to be kept safe from hurting anyone else, that she knew. And he had agreed to take her on, keep her, let her live there even after knowing what she had done, even after she had lied down the phone to Mr Poe, even caught by him in the act of it - _I’ll never turn you away_ , he had said.

She smeared her tears across her cheeks, kicking at the dust of the vacant rooms, hollow and chilly. Violet rubbed her arms and looked about her, she _was_ safe here. She leant against a rickety wardrobe and slumped to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, hugging her arms around them as though they were another person. They only gave her a empty sort of comfort, not what she needed. _Who would want to be near you? You sent them away, you killed them._ “Leave me alone!” She screamed at the echoing voices and buried her head in her knees.

There was nothing left of her old life to go back to, no belongings, she had _nothing_. Just Olaf, and his dust, and this dress. She peered down at the pink dress, smudged with brownish grey dirt from the weeks of cleaning and garden clearance and simply _living_ , in Olaf’s unloved dirty mansion. It was becoming part of her. Hand-washing what clothes they had in a sink without any soap had not had much of an effect, and since then the dress had been shoved in a trunk or left on a dressing room floor before being put back on.

Maybe, her heart swelled at a hopeful thought. _Maybe they had left something._

She pushed up onto her feet using the wardrobe, and pointlessly but habitually rubbed her dress down. Violet turned on her toes with a new sense of purpose and made a break for the twisted staircase up to the attic room, banging the door open as her eyes searched frantically around the small, single room. Klaus and Sunny had left without knowing it would happen, with only what they were wearing or holding in that moment. Sunny! She spotted the faded yellow blanket and charged across the room, dropping onto the bed and grabbing it both her hands, cradling it to her chest as she cried, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” She choked in a raspy wet voice. The pile of rocks Olaf had provided still lay in the corner of the room, and the sight of them made her laugh, even through her tears. Sunny was the only baby that would actually appreciate them as a toy, how had Olaf known? Violet dug the heel of her hand into her eyes feeling them sting from salty tears.

He really wasn’t so bad as they had thought. _Tattoos are just decorative pigment on skin. They’re not sign of a wicked person._

Folding the blanket into a careful, tender square, she made the bed and put the blanket on the pillow. She wouldn’t forget them, she decided. They would always be here, just like this. Klaus in his woolly red jumper and Sunny with her bald head and tiny pony, verbalising in only a way the Baudelaire siblings understood. It was as if she had to leave herself here with them, the Violet they knew, the Violet _they_ would remember. They would be in here together in this attic room.

 _You’re not that person anymore,_ her guilt taunted. But to them she was still happy and smiley Violet Baudelaire, tinkering with toasters and rock-collecting machines and quoting famous singers with her brother. And she always would be. It was comforting somehow, that they had gone and could live in the happy ignorance of what had really happened, what she had done.

Violet stood, undoing her thin white belt and dropping it forgetfully as she wandered to the window, staring down at how high up she was from the backyard. She crouched down onto one knee, unlacing her sneakers, peeling off her sock and shoving it inside. She repeated with the other foot then stood, barefoot, pressing the soles of her feet into the floorboards feeling them for the first time. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, finding clarity. _I’ll never turn you away_. Violet sucked her lips in and opened them again. The big triangular window at the end of the room was more than big enough. The two panes barely slotted together and even if you were to try to close them, the latch was broken. The hinges creaked as she pushed on the glass, opening them wide, holding onto the eaves of the roof as she balanced on the edge of the window-frame, looking out across the grey back yard of Olaf’s mansion, onto other gardens and yards she could see of houses down the street, and the world beyond.

It wasn’t Klaus she had to face anymore. Leaping from Olaf’s bed in a panic hearing her brothers footsteps, knowing if she was caught, if she saw her - _all that worry,_ she breathed.

It was herself.

Violet stared out of the window at the night sky, her toes curling on the very edge of the window-frame. Her feet were getting cold. Olaf had just lain there, she could see him now. The thought made her smile a little. He didn't care that they would be caught, didn't fret the way she did, he _owned_ his actions. Would she ever feel like that? Forget long enough to feel content with who she was?

Violet shut her eyes. She felt the evening breeze rustle her unusually wavy hair, and she breathed in the scent of the wind, of Briney Beach and the day they heard the devastating news that their parents had been killed. The she had killed them. This truth was inevitable to her now and wallowing in it was no help. Violet frowned hard at herself.

_I was selfish. I was obstinate and childish and stormed from the house. My equipment. My choice._

_I started the fire that destroyed my house and killed my parents._

_I sent my siblings away to protect them, to protect myself. I want to be alone. I want to be here. They deserve more than me._

_But I deserve more than this._

Violet opened her eyes and stepped back from the window, she wouldn’t do that. But she _would_ leave herself here. She didn't feel right she didn't _look_ right, things had irreparably changed and here she stood in this damn pink dress. She turned and stormed from the room, abandoning her shoes and socks at the window where they lay, yanking the oddly shaped door closed as tight as she could make it, wedging it shut with a splinter of wood and a rolled up old newspaper that lay littering the hall.

_Closed._

She stopped by Olaf’s bedroom and collected the lavender blue cardigan that Klaus had dropped on the floor there in the doorway, an angry, steely determination in her eyes. It didn't even fit. Her hurried silent steps alerted no-one to her journey through the house, down the stairs until she reached the dining room. Her toes made a dusty trail of footprints that skidded to a halt. The Troupe had remained sitting there - The Bald Man had slouched in the corner seat and snored and the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender drunkenly played the same key on the piano in a slow repetitive pattern. The others were waiting in awkward silence to see if they were really fired or not.

Violet stared at them, at the gaping absence of Olaf in the group. Determined, she set a course through the room and snatched a bottle of something off the armoire without stopping to see what it was. The Troupe glanced up when they heard the back door bang open.

She felt the broken step half way down. The cold gravel underfoot when she got to the bottom. The wonderful, cold darkness was all around her and she smiled. It was a blissful, all consuming darkness that filled her every pore and made her laugh. How could a sky-full of nothingness, be something, be the right thing.

Violet gave into it, to the night and the cold and the clouds of smoke that filled her mind and the guilty voice that taunted her. It was right all along. Olaf was right all along.

She tossed her head back and put the bottle to her lips, drinking the burning liquid down her throat until she was all out of breath. It spilt from her lips when she took the bottle away, dripping down her chest as she laughed and caught her breath. _God it burned._ Violet stared up at the stars, her head hanging back as she turned, one step at a time recalling their names like Klaus had taught her. The bottle was at her lips again and she drank down a few mouthfuls, turning, stepping, spinning … it gave her headrush and it was exhilarating.

Violet drank and danced and span, the momentum knocking her off balance to find herself suddenly on the floor. She scraped her nails on the ground grinding them down, the bottle rolling away as she sat herself up again, panting. Pushing forward she felt a sting on her knee and looked down. She’d grazed her knee and barely felt it. The corner of her lips pulled into a drunken smile, she suddenly understood why Olaf did it. She was already numbing to it.

Her dress was dirty. There was whisky down it and gravel smudged into the back and _god it was still this same pink dress_ as she wore leaving the house, as _Violet Baudelaire the good girl_ had worn leaving the house. Violet grabbed at her dress, fumbling the buttons from the top, panting and shaking as she undid them and felt tears creeping back into her eyes, leaking down her cheeks as she ripped away what was left of her. _Its not me, this isn't me!_

She might have gotten into Olaf’s bed a little girl but he had made her something else. No it isn’t Olaf, she had _always_ been this person. Not everyone had it, but she did, _I’m a bad person and Olaf is a bad person and thats why he sees me._ She got to her feet and yanked her arms from the silly pink dress and slammed it into a near by barrel, kicking it with her bare foot making it clang. She kicked it again and again until her toe throbbed and picked up the bottle and threw it in there too, the cardigan with it, the glass smashing and soaking it in whisky, the fumes making her cough as she leant over to check.

She had just ruined the last and only thing she owned. The tears continued unbidden, though she didn't really know if she was sad about it, angry at the stupid thing or glad to be rid of it.

The back door rattled and she jumped, turning looking behind her. The Hook Handed Man stood silhouetted in the doorway, only for a moment before disappearing. She blinked and looked around her, down at her bare skin in the night sky and the plain cotton underwear that was all she had left on.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, her mind muddled. She kicked the barrel again one more time to make herself feel better. “You’ll catch your death wearing that. Which is next to nothing,” A warm, oaky voice said from behind her. Violet spun on her toes and found Olaf right behind her.

“Its you.” Violet let out a tight breath of relief.

He held his hands out to to the side as if announcing himself all over again. “Of course. It is I. Hooky said you were getting naked in the back yard,” Olaf said, in a gently amused voice. He had paced the library for the last half an hour wondering what to say, which route the lie should take, or if he should pepper the truth in it for her. Lay it all out there now rather than keep the fortune-stealing a secret only to come out and rock their relationship later. He smiled at that word. _Relationship._ With such a pretty girl too. _Concentrate Olaf,_ he scolded himself, gnawing his lip hungrily as he appreciated her body in the moonlight. “Thought I should come check you out. Check _it_ out,” He corrected quickly. “Check the _situation_ , out.” He cleared his throat trying to cover his weaknesses, the female form all but screwed with his ability to use language. “About, the marriage…,” Olaf began, touching his hand to her arm with uncertainty of how she could react.

She had been crying, she was drunk - that was likely his fault, he chewed, not paying her enough attention tonight getting so wrapped up in what it felt like to succeed! He had neglected the girls feelings.

He scoffed to himself, a week ago he wouldn't have cared for her feelings, she was a means to an end to be disposed of, a whiny little self righteous Orphan who complained and demanded things. He had to stay objective. Convince her. Turn her. Leave such weaknesses for later.

But look at her. Olaf contained his wanton growl in his chest, his eyes shining in delightful thoughts.

Violet closed the space between them, rubbing her face into his shirt to dry her eyes. He frowned confusedly, it was so child like and innocent, how she could even believe herself capable of burning her house down was kind of unbelievable to him. “Its okay. It was, the right thing to do,” She murmured, feeling his arm draping over her shoulder and back, toying with the end of her hair. Violet smiled, that was the second time he had done such a gesture and it was quietly comforting.

“It - was?” He paused, bewildered. Fuck. He really had broken her. “Yes it was, wasn’t it. I’m so glad you see it that way,” He continued, smoothing his hand up and down her back. His hand fitted in the small of her back just perfectly, and he inadvertently brushed his fingertips along the hem of her panties. “Makes things a lot easier,” Olaf muttered.

“I’m scared,” Violet admitted in a soft breath, curling fists of Olaf’s shirt in her hands. He had pulled her back from the cliff-edge, but the fear was still behind her. She needed him to walk her away somehow, start again. She didn't know a reality without her family, any of her belongings, her home. “I don't know who I am anymore,” Her words came in jumpy breathes as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her and force her tears again. “I ripped my dress and -

“I noticed,” He interjected calmly, brushing his thumb in small circles on her back.

“… and I didn't even like it and thats ungrateful to say when I don't have another, I would never have done that before.”

He eased back from her a little to lean down to bring his face close to hers, cupping her cheeks and brushing the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Oh Violet, you have so much to learn. About yourself, about what you’re really capable of,” He told her kindly, his thumb rubbing over the corner of her lips almost of its own accord. He wanted to kiss those lips and hear them utter the words he taught her. “You just have to trust me, my dear.” Instead, he kissed only her forehead in a kind, thoughtful way that made her mewl helplessly, _gratefully_.

Her agony was going, his breath warm on her skin and his lips tender against her. Maybe it was the whisky, but his touch was strangely warming around her body, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot rubbing her thighs together a little. She didn't know why, but she needed the friction. “I don’t have anything else to wear,” She admitted.

Olaf huffed. “I don’t mind.” He shrugged his jacket off down his arms and draped it over her shoulders. “But I wouldn't want you to freeze to death our wedding night.” He pulled the sides together to cover her middle. She could feel something knock against her hip in the pocket of his coat.

“Thank you,” She smiled, untucking one arm from inside the jacket to fish into the pocket, finding something small and clumsily wrapped in newspaper. She examined the peculiar object, her questioning gaze looking at him for an answer.

Olaf was glad of both of their inebriation, for he was sure he was likely blushing a little in the darkness. It had been silly of him, but fortune-stealing-ploy or not, he wanted to do at least something of their wedding properly. “It was, meant to be my wedding gift. For you,” He explained, clearing his throat irritated by the slight quiver to his voice. He didn’t want to give himself away with such sentimentality.

She peered at him, a playfully suspicious look in her eyes. What was he up to? She unwrapped the present and found a small metal object she initially didn't recognise until she turned it over in her hand, resting it on her palm. It was a silver-metal flip lighter, with the same wooden engraved eye as was on his hip flask he had leant her. The same eye that was everywhere she looked. She rubbed her thumb familiarly over it, as if the symbol itself was starting to have a different meaning to her. It signified _him,_ his house, his hip flask, his teaching her to drink. Now this lighter. “What does it mean? The eye. Its, all over your house.”

“Its an insignia. For a secret organisation I am part of. You will be too,” He stated, able to tell her the first of many truths to understand and digest. He would show her everything, little by little.

Hisdreams of running hand in hand with her from starting a fire had just taken its first steps into becoming reality. Those shocked faces of the Volunteers seeing her with him, kissing him, jumping in the car with him - his chest was tight with anticipation to bring it to fruition.. She didn't even know what VFD was, the Schism, or the people that would try to keep her from him. She didn't know who the pesky Volunteers were would try to ruin his work.

She would only know what _he_ told her.

“Me?” She asked curiously. What use was she to a secret organisation?

He slowly turned her round so her back was to his chest, and could encircle her with his arms. She giggled a little, letting him take the lighter from her hands to show her how it opened, rolling the ignitor and the flame flick into life in front of them both. “I have a lot to teach you,” Olaf whisperedpressing his lips into her hair, against her ear.

Violet stared mesmerised by the orange glow, it produced so much light when everything around them was dark. It moved as though it had a life of its own, flickering and waving just a little, the fades of colour from the centre to the outside changing and shifting as the heat and intensity moved. She clicked the lid shut extinguishing the flame, and for a moment Olaf held his breath. Did she want to put the fires out? Was her parents work somehow genetically ingrained in her?

She took a breath and opened the lid again, taking it delicately from his fingers to be able to roll the lighter herself, her thumb doing the correct technique, concentrating hard. When the flame burst into life she exclaimed in surprise, laughing a little despite her slightly shaky hands.

“You’re a natural,” Olaf growled pleased with himself, thankful his words and teaching held more strength for her than anything that came before.

“I’m not sure I really like fire,” She said quietly.

Olaf held her safely in his arms, resting his head over her shoulder as he leant down, coaching her for the first and _most important_ time. “Fire makes everything disappear, Violet. So you can rise again from the ashes.” He scrunched up the newspaper that he’d used to wrap it in, and waved the paper over the flame grinning as it caught alight. She stared, and concentrated, and tried to see it how he did. Peeking over the lip of the barrel he could see her dress in there. _How poetic_. A rumbling, evil chuckle emitted from his chest and he didn't care. _Burn it_. He urged her, and with the paper bundle curling and burning in his hands, he offered it to her to take.

Her eyes danced frightened, what if it caught something else alight? His jacket? A branch somehow - what if leant against the house? _The house._ The Troupe were inside -

Olaf looped his arm round her middle ready to pull her back out of the way, “I’ve got you, Violet Baudelaire. Don’t be scared.” She nodded, encouraged by his belief in her, surrounding her literally and figuratively, his beard tickling her neck and his words hot against her ear and -his _everything._ She dropped it, the paper caught the whisky and the dress in a instant _whoosh_ of energy bursting into flame, crackling against the walls of the barrel. She leant back, startled at the power of it. “See?”

She clicked the lighter closed, and tucked her arms around herself, allowing him to hold her fully now. The pair of them stood there a while simply gazing in to the flames, the warmth of the fire reaching her face and heating her soul. “I’mstill not sure I understand,” She said quietly. There was something, something she was meant to find in it. The centre of the flames almost held pictures in them, dancing figures from her memory, but she wanted to see her future, not her past. The old Violet Baudelaire was gone, how could she forge a new one?

Olaf pressed her tightly to him. “Its you, my dear, you are a phoenix,” His voice low and dark, telling the deep secret of what he saw in her, what he knew she could be. “A rare and beautiful thing that can only be borne of tragedy and burning flame.” He eased her around to look at him. “Don’t you see? Violet?” He looked deep into her, as if she were the most precious and beautiful thing in the world, a fanatical urgency to his eyes that begged her to see herself the way he did. Olaf’s hand wound around her neck, under her hair and urged her to look at him too. He nodded at her, tears pricking his eyes when she slowly nodded back.

Violet didn't know what made her do it, but she didn't know much of anything anymore. Only what she felt, right now, in this moment. And him. She touched her hand over his, and leant up onto her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. It was barely there, feather light but gently nuzzling. “Can we go inside?” She whispered.

“We can go to bed, if you like,” Olaf smirked. “Its you and me now.”

Her toes curled. Should she? It had helped, but it had been bad, but she had felt this burn between her legs just like when he first pushed inside her. She’d felt it a few times since then and every time it was because of him, his hand on her knee, the brush of his fingers. _Face yourself._ Violet thought, reminding herself of her words. _You wanted him to do it again, you thought about it when you were on stage. You thought about what it felt like._ She took a deep breath, and nodded.

It took Olaf all but a second to scoop her up under the legs and shoulders like a true groom with his bride, carrying her in his arms towards the back door, up the creaking wooden porch and over the threshold.


End file.
